The Proposal
by stranded chess piece
Summary: Sam survives a car accident but is haunted by the other driver who didn't. Set early S2.
1. Chapter 1

_Still don't own them. Having fun playing though :) This one's a work in progress, I'll just see how it goes._

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CHAPTER ONE

The rain was torrential, turning the street into a river and making it almost impossible to tell where asphalt ended and sidewalk began. Sam had the wipers working overtime but it wasn't making a difference. The lights of the small town glared like flares, blurring and burning through the unpleasant night. Sam rubbed at the windshield, hoping to clear it a little. It was nearly impossible to see through.

He was crawling along in the direction of the motel at a snail's pace. His hair was dripping into his eyes from his brief dash into the diner to purchase his and Dean's dinner, and his clothes were drenched and stiff from cold. He was grumpy, tired, and still sore from their last hunt. Losing the scissors-paper-rock battle with his brother earlier had been the final straw. He _never_ lost that game! Tonight it had meant that he was the one who had to venture out into the crazy storm to find them some food. And of course Dean wouldn't settle for something from the motel's own small diner. No, it had to be burgers from the burger joint across the other side of town.

Big brother had grinned mercilessly, reclining on his bed. "Extra onions, Sammy. You know the drill."

Sam had glared, roughly buttoning his jacket.

"And beer. Get us some beer."

"If they don't sell beer in the same place, I'm not looking for it." Sam had scooped up the keys and made for the door, ignoring Dean's comments about him being a sore loser. The door was pulled closed behind him and for a moment he'd stood, staring out at the rain, willing it to stop just so he could make it to the car without getting soaked. Their father had raised them to be prepared to deal with any situation and their supplies included guns, ropes, flashlights, lock picks, camping gear, medical equipment, salt, fake IDs; but never any umbrellas. _Why the hell didn't they own an umbrella?_

With an audible groan Sam had hunched his shoulders and pulled up his hood. He'd sprinted the distance to the car, slamming the key into the lock and jerking the door open. The noise of the rain on the roof had been deafening as he'd sat, safely inside, catching his breath and feeling his clothes drip all over the seat. Thinking about how annoyed Dean would be to see him soaking the upholstery in such a fashion, he'd allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. But it was short-lived as his teeth began to chatter from the cold.

Now, with dinner safely packed in grease-stained bags on the seat beside him, Sam traveled along what he'd thought was the final stretch of road before their motel. Only he couldn't see the motel sign, and the traffic lights ahead seemed out of place because he couldn't recall there being an intersection there. Perhaps he'd taken a wrong turn. He strained his eyes, searching for a street sign. It was like trying to find something on the bottom of the ocean. The raindrops running down the windows blurred his vision in all directions.

As he entered the intersection and turned his head, hoping to recognize the road he was crossing over, he was greeted by the blinding headlights of another car as it rushed towards him. Sam's reflexes had his foot flying to the brake and his hands jerking at the wheel, but there was no time. A great squeal of tires on wet road ripped through the night and the Impala was sent spinning in a spray of water and shattered glass as the other car impacted. Sam felt himself thrown violently to the side, the seatbelt the only thing keeping him in his chair. Searing pain ripped through his chest and head as he was slammed into his door.

The accident was over in an instant, but to Sam it seemed as if he continued spinning forever. Discomfort came in a great wave as his body began to register its hurts and the chaos settled. There was the sound of shouting, and someone yelled to call 911. Sam could smell copper and realized it was his own blood. He tried to raise his head but the movement sent his stomach lurching up through his throat. He struggled to breathe but only managed jerky half gulps.

He felt the door he was leaning against shudder open and hands begin to steady him. Someone was calling into his ear, their fingers against his neck. Sam wanted to respond but the voice began to move away and wobble into the background before he had the chance to catch it.

The rain became a roar, and Sam's pain began to ebb away. Distantly he was aware that his sudden lack of feeling and increasing weightlessness was not a good sign, but he couldn't fight it. He felt fatigue wash over him. He struggled to stay awake. His eyes cracked open for a moment and he saw a man standing outside the car, looking in. The stranger's face was broken, red with blood and rain, his eyes deep pools of sadness and loss. Sam wanted to cry out to him but he couldn't work his jaw to open his mouth. Soon the effort became too much and he gave up completely. Sam felt himself slowly slipping away into unconsciousness and there was nothing he could do.

Time must have passed, though no time seemed to pass at all. Sam's eyes opened again as he was being lifted and laid flat on something hard. Or was it soft? There were faces over him, telling him things, but it was too hard to listen so Sam shut them out.

Something was over his mouth now. He felt himself being strapped down even though he wanted to sit up and pull away. His eyes darted about and he caught sight of a body being lifted onto a stretcher beside him. It was the stranger with the bloody face. A sheet was pulled up to cover the stranger's eyes and head and Sam realized the man had died. But that was impossible, because only a moment ago he had been standing outside Sam's car, conscious and breathing. The stranger's body was moved out of sight and Sam wanted to tell the faces that hovered over him to check the man in case they'd made a mistake and he was actually still alive, but there was a sting in his hand and things began to blur even more than they were already.

Sam tried to hold on but felt himself slipping. He wondered whether he was going to die as well. As he faded away, Sam's last conscious thought was of his brother. He hoped Dean would be able to find it in himself to forgive his little brother for not making it.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Dean rolled his eyes as his phone rang. It would be Sam, no doubt. _He'd better have a good reason for taking his sweet time, I'm about to start eating the furniture..._ The unknown number on the screen was unexpected and instantly troubled him. He hesitated a moment before taking the call.

The woman's voice was alien and cold as it robotically asked him if his name was Dean and if he knew a gentleman by the name of Sam. Alarm bells were already ringing in Dean's head as he told her that Sam was his brother and asked what this was about. The woman informed him that Sam had been involved in a car accident and was currently in the ER at the hospital in the next town. Dean's appetite dissolved in an instant as he snapped the phone shut, not even waiting for her to finish. He bolted out the door towards the motel's reception, barely registering the rain on his face.

Moments later he was trying to force himself calm as he sat shaking in the passenger seat of a cab as it sped towards the hospital. He'd told the driver to hurry but the weather was making it impossible and the roads were dangerously wet. A herd of thoughts were stampeding through his mind and his heart was beating so fast he felt he might be sick. Why had he made Sam go across town for dinner when they could have easily got something to eat at the motel? If his stupidity caused him to lose his little brother tonight he knew it would be the end of him too. Dean didn't even know the details of Sam's condition but already he was fearing the worst, and feeling the guilt.

The hospital was a blur of papers, false surnames and made-up insurance details. Dean paced the small waiting area as his current concern for his brother battled it out with memories still too fresh in his mind from their last visit to a hospital, when they'd lost their father. The smell, the white walls, shiny floors and featurelessness of it all made his stomach churn. Five times he asked the triage nurse if she knew when he'd be able to see Sam and five times he was told to please take a seat and be patient. He was just about to show her how much more patient he was willing to be if he was made to wait a second longer, when a tall male doctor with soft features approached him and informed him that his brother had been moved into a room and that Dean could see him when he was ready. Dean didn't need to be told twice. The tall doctor led the way and the older brother followed, through swinging doors, up one floor and down a long hallway with glaring fluorescent lights.

Sam lay unmoving in a sea of white. The stark sheets did nothing to soften the bruises already spattered across his face. There was a bandage around his forehead, padded just above his left eyebrow, and he was hooked up to all sorts of devices that beeped and blinked random numbers.

As Dean stepped closer to his brother the tall doctor listed Sam's injuries, explaining that Sam had been very lucky the car hadn't hit on the driver's side. If it had, he wouldn't have escaped with only a moderate concussion, cuts and bruises. He'd been given quite a few drugs to ease the pain and a full check-over. He had some swelling around his ribs and left shoulder, and would no doubt be very sore for a few days but was otherwise expected to make a full recovery. Unfortunately the other driver hadn't been so lucky and had died at the scene.

The tall doctor shook his head sadly. "He wasn't even wearing a seatbelt, went straight through the windshield."

Dean felt a weight settle in his stomach at the news of the other driver's death. He was almost too afraid to voice the question that now surfaced in his mind, but he had to know. "Whose fault was it?"

The doctor picked up on Dean's sudden unease. "Not your brother's."

Dean exhaled, relieved.

"The other driver came straight through the red light. There will be an investigation, but I believe there is evidence to suggest the man was drunk. It seems pretty straightforward. It's just a damn shame, and a waste."

Dean nodded soberly. An investigation was something he and Sam could do without, but they'd worry about that after Sam had woken up. The doctor asked if there was anything Dean needed, but the older brother shook his head and pulled a chair to the side of Sam's bed.

The doctor paused in the doorway. "Visiting hours are almost over, but I'll arrange with the nurses to let you stay. Your brother was quite distressed earlier and was asking for you. I think he'll be a lot easier to manage when he wakes if he knows you're nearby."

Dean regarded his brother with mild amusement as the doctor walked away. So, Sam had been giving them a hard time. He shook his head and took Sam's limp hand in his as he watched the rise and fall of the younger man's chest with growing relief. Sam would be okay.

"Way to scare me, buddy," he said. "I'm not even gonna to ask what's happened to my car. You can plead your case when you wake up. But if it's beyond repair, just so you know, I will kick your ass. Just…" His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard, squeezing Sam's hand tighter. It was probably a good thing Sam was unconscious otherwise this would be embarrassing. "Just wake up soon, alright. You're going to be okay."

Sam didn't move, nor did he give any sign to indicate he'd heard Dean's words. Dean released Sam's hand and leaned back in his chair. It was possibly the most uncomfortable chair he'd ever sat in, but that could be forgiven. Sam was in his line of vision once again, and as far as Dean was concerned, that was where his little brother would remain.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Sam's eyes cracked open. He was in a hospital, in a bed. The white walls and sheets were enough to give it away. He felt a presence by his side and turned to see who was there. A man with a broken, bloody face stood staring down at him.

Sam jerked and tried to sit up, pulling himself back and away from the man. Images from the accident came flooding back.

The man's mouth was moving in a haunting way, open and closed, closed then open, his eyes full of emotion and hurt. A sound like a moan drifted to Sam's ears. W_yyyyyyysaaaaaaaammm-_

Sam's hand was caught in the IV and there were things stuck to his chest, tangling him as he struggled against them. The man reached out and held him by the shoulders, ghostly hands stronger than they should have been, restraining him. _Wyyysaaaammmsss-_

Sam remembered the dreams he'd had of Jessica pinned to the ceiling of their apartment, hearing her say the same thing. _Why Sam?_ He'd been responsible for her death. He'd survived the accident that had killed this man. Had he been responsible for this man's death too?

"Oh God-" He cried, his whole body shaking as he broke down. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

The dead man held his shoulders tighter and tears blurred Sam's vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to continue holding the stranger's gaze.

"I'm sorry-" Sam's voice was now as broken as the man's bloody face. "I'm sorry-" Sobs and tremors were running through him.

"Sam-"

"I'm sorry-" He felt overwhelmed by guilt.

"_Sam-!"_ The voice of his brother broke through the dream and Sam startled, properly awake this time. Dean was gripping him by the shoulders and Sam was sitting in a hospital bed, tangled in sheets and tubes, tears stinging his eyes and face. A flare of pain in his head caused him to gasp, jarring his bruised ribs. He groaned and slumped forward, not resisting when Dean lowered him gently back against the pillows and pressed the button to call the nurse.

"Hey, take it easy." Dean still had a hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam's eyes darted about the room. The other man wasn't there. "Dean-?"

Dean's features held an obvious amount of concern. It was rare to see, and it bothered Sam. "Just lay still a minute Sammy."

"Dean I killed a man- I crashed the car-"

"I know, it's gonna be okay."

Sam's eyes went wide. "Dean it's not going to be okay- I killed a man- I crashed your car…!" Sam's hands flew to his head and his face twisted in agony.

"Sam-!"

A nurse rushed into the room and called for a doctor. Dean was shuffled into the corner where he stood, watching as the doctor from earlier came and checked his brother over. Sam was more than uncooperative. Dean had to step in and try to calm him down. They gave Sam more drugs and he seemed to settle. Once it was over Dean followed the doctor out into the hall.

"He's obviously quite shaken up by the event." The doctor peered back into the room where Sam was now sedated. "He's probably just a little confused and disoriented. He should sleep through the night with what we've given him. We'll see how he goes in the morning."

Dean nodded his thanks. He hated hospitals, but this doctor seemed understanding and kind.

"I'll be nearby if you need anything, or if he wakes like that again."

"Sure." Dean pushed a tired smile and the doctor walked away. Dean went back to his chair beside his brother. Sam could be a drama queen at the best of times, but it still unsettled Dean that he'd freaked out like that. He watched his brother's face, expressionless in sleep. The drugs had obviously chased away any dreams because Sam always wore some kind of emotion, even when sleeping.

Briefly Dean wondered what had become of his car. It would have to wait until morning. As painful as it was, Dean focused his attention on the here and now. Once he was done assessing the damage done to his brother, he'd worry about his car. The fact that the car had just been fixed was beside the point.

"It's beside the point," he told himself, trying to make it convincing. Something inside him screamed and he slapped a hand to his face, rubbing it across his eyes and forehead. Sam wasn't at fault, it was the stupid son of a bitch who'd ran the red light. That's who he'd blame. The guy had been drinking, stupid fool.

Dean felt his thoughts stutter and stop as he remembered the other driver was dead. Sam's panicked words came back to him. _I killed a man- I crashed your car_-

Older brother sighed heavily. "It's not your fault, Sam."

He knew Sam would be feeling guilty as hell. His younger sibling was always feeling guilty for something and it was always completely unnecessary.

"Tonight wasn't your fault." Dean brushed the hair from Sam's eyes and settled back in his chair. "You've got to know that. Tonight was _not_ your fault."


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed- I didn't reply to individuals but it's seriously appreciated and makes me want to keep writing. This chapter's given me a small amount of grief but it's here now- hoorah :)_

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**CHAPTER FOUR**

Dean yawned and stretched awake, his back pulling in a thousand places. There was a crick in his neck from sleeping at such an odd angle in the chair. He groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, blinking blearily. It was morning. Sam lay in the bed watching him silently.

"Hey, how you feeling?" Dean was startled but happy to see his brother awake.

Sam's eyelids sagged in a slow blink and he tried for a smile, but it was pathetic and didn't work.

"You sleep okay?" Dean leaned forward, noticing Sam's groggy stare. "The doc gave you quite a few drugs to help settle you down, said they'd make you feel better."

Sam didn't reply.

Dean's hand drifted in the direction of his brother's, faltered and stopped short at the bed railing. His fingers twisted around the cold metal. "Sam, about what happened last night…"

Sam flinched slightly.

"Listen, I know you're feeling pretty awful right now but we need to talk about it. You need to understand the accident wasn't your fault."

Sam's expression trembled across his features and his head began to shake.

"Sam, the other guy was drunk, it was a red light but he went straight through. I know you were freaking out last night because you thought you'd killed him. Sam, _he_ almost killed _you_. Are you hearing what I'm saying?"

Sam's fingers fumbled with the sheets, twisting and pulling. They were eventually stilled by a firm touch from his brother.

"The only thing you're guilty of is being in the wrong place at the wrong time." Sam's hand felt cold and clammy. Dean felt his brother tense before relaxing slightly. "Sammy?"

Sam swallowed convulsively. He looked tired and pale, a lot younger than his years. His eyes betrayed the volume of thoughts tumbling through his mind. Eventually he shifted his hand from under Dean's.

"What is it?" Dean couldn't help but notice his words hadn't done much to reassure his brother. Something else was troubling Sam.

The younger man looked nervous, almost frightened. The expression didn't suit him and Dean was desperate to erase it. "Sammy?" His voice was gentler now, coaxing. "You alright in there?"

Sam's eyes drifted to the ceiling then over to the window. When he spoke, his voice was such a whisper Dean had to ask him to repeat it. Sam swallowed once more before replying, slightly more audible this time, "I crashed your car, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth to respond but the realization of what Sam was saying sank in and he stopped. Older brother found his head shaking as he fought down a relieved laugh."God Sam, I thought it was something serious."

Sam watched his brother warily. "But…"

"It's just a _car_, Sam."

Sam obviously didn't quite know how to react to his bother's _lack_ of reaction and Dean could see him mentally back-peddling. "You're not mad?"

"Do I look mad to you?"

Sam narrowed his eyes as best he could with the bandage around his forehead.

Dean sighed. "Sam I just told you you're lucky to be alive. The car is the least of our concerns. I'm sure it can be fixed." _Even though it's just been fixed, it's beside the point, beside the point…_

"I don't know where it is..."

Dean shrugged. _Beside the point…_ "Doesn't matter, I'll sort it out. It was probably towed somewhere." _There's not much around, it can't be far, it'll just take a phone call…_He flashed a reassuring smile.

Sam's eyes narrowed further, the suspicion in them growing. He hesitated a moment before venturing on. "I had the burgers on the seat. They were only in paper bags… They were pretty greasy…"

Dean felt his jaw clench and his smile become slightly more strained.

"I think the windshield was smashed, and the passenger side windows… It was raining pretty heavily… I think some of your cassettes were on the floor-"

"Okay stop."

Sam fell silent, a hint of a smile ghosting his features. Older brother was now glaring and Sam was relieved. "I was beginning to worry maybe-"

"-Maybe what Sam."

Sam's cheeks dimpled slightly. "For a second there I thought maybe it wasn't really you."

It was Dean's turn to look confused.

"I was expecting you to rip me apart. Dean, I _crashed _your _car_."

"Yeah, well. We've established it wasn't your fault. Let's just leave it at that okay."

Sam took a moment to consider this. His smile eventually softened to a whisper, before fading completely. Dean found himself wanting to reach out and grab it as it slid away. Sam looked sad again.

"You know-" Dean decided it was time to change the subject. "I'm starving. Are you hungry? I might see if I can find your doc, see if you're allowed to eat something. Do you feel like something to eat?"

"I'm not really hungry."

Dean pushed himself up from the chair, the legs burping softly across the shiny floor. "Okay then, what about something non food related, something to drink?"

Sam shook his head.

"A magazine?"

Again Sam's head shook 'no'. "It's okay, Dean. I'm fine, really. Thankyou."

Dean watched him a moment, seeing through Sam's current attempt at a reassuring smile. "Sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

_Fine_. Sam always used that word when something was wrong. Dean stood awkwardly, stretching his limbs and back. His little brother was not fine, he could tell by the set of Sam's jaw. There was something still troubling the younger man but Sam wasn't letting on what. Dean decided his little brother was probably still feeling guilty on some level, no doubt worrying about the dead man's family, neighbours and dog, as well as everyone in between. The youngest Winchester had always been sympathetic towards others in a way Dean had never fully understood. Sam harboured emotions as effectively as Dean shut them out.

"Alright then." Dean hobbled towards the door, realizing their conversation wasn't going any further. Sam was shutting him out and Dean had learnt not to push at his brother's closed doors. "I'm just gonna duck out for a second, but I'll be right back."

Sam tracked his sibling's uncharacteristically ungraceful movements, frowning at Dean's awkward steps.

Older brother smiled. "Don't go anywhere, okay."

The last comment was intended as a joke, but it fell on deaf ears as Sam's thoughts carried him elsewhere, eyes fixing on a place somewhere beyond the glass of the window.

Dean sighed. There'd once been a time when a simple word had been enough to reassure Sam and chase even the darkest shadows away. Now, as Dean left his brother's room and moved into the cold corridor of yet another featureless hospital in yet another nameless town, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened along their way to change that; whether he'd lost his magic, or they'd both simply lost too much. Either way it made him sad and Dean realized he'd give anything to get it back, to be able to reach Sam every time the younger felt unreachable, to be able to fix things every time they fell apart.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks again for the reviews :) You guys are awesome._

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**CHAPTER FIVE**

Sam continued to stare through the window long after his brother had left the room. The clouds were sagging with the promise of more rain and a lonely bird cartwheeled through the sky as it fought against the gusty wind. His head was beginning to ache and his chest hurt to breathe. He knew he should feel relieved that the accident hadn't been his fault, but it was difficult when all he could think about was the man who'd died.

He closed his eyes, but the stranger's face was there. It stared back at him all broken and bloody through the cold, rainy night. The scream of tires still echoed in his memory, as well as the shattering of glass as it scattered across wet road. He still felt the jolt of the impact as the seatbelt cut into his chest. He still remembered his helplessness at seeing the sheet being pulled over the dead man's eyes as they'd both been carried away; one man to a comfy bed with his worried brother by his side, the other to the cold shadows of a morgue.

The driver had been drinking and had made a mistake. Sam was no stranger to the pain mistakes could cause. It just seemed a shame that this cost was so high. Sam's heart went out to the man's family as they dealt with their loss, and woke into this new day with one less loved one in their lives.

It didn't make sense. If Sam had been conscious, could he have helped the man? He recalled, with a shudder, the dream he'd had of the stranger standing by his bed and the look of loss he'd seen in the empty, dead eyes. It had only been a nightmare but at the time had seemed so real. Sam worried that it may have been his mind's way of telling him he could have done more, that the man needn't have died. Perhaps Sam really was to blame. The thought made his stomach curl.

There was a sound at the door and Sam turned, expecting it to be Dean. His brother had probably failed in his attempt to find food. But instead of seeing his sibling Sam was greeted by the tall doctor. The man strode into the room bearing a clipboard and a smile.

"Good morning Mister Richards, how are you feeling?" The man's tone was far too cheerful and Sam had trouble forming a response. "I just saw Dean down the hall and he told me you were awake. Did you sleep okay? Probably better than your brother, I'm guessing. The nurse assures me she did offer him a bed but he insisted on remaining in the chair. You gave him quite a scare last night you know. He was threatening to cause a scene while they had him down at emergency waiting to hear about you. How's your head? The drugs are probably wearing off but don't worry, we'll get you some more. I'm just going to take a bit of a look under the bandage there. Are you hungry? I'll organize some food."

The rate at which the words came out of the doctor's mouth made Sam dizzy. His brain was one step behind, still trying to process what had been said as the man poked and probed his forehead before shining a light into his eyes. Sam tried to explain that he wasn't hungry, but his words were lost as he was asked to lift his gown and the doctor proceeded to check his ribs. The man was chatting happily to himself, occasionally pausing to jot something down, barely noticing Sam's quiet protests.

When finally the assessment was complete the doctor gathered himself and his notes and moved back towards the door. He told Sam he'd have breakfast brought in and that he would like Sam to eat something, even if it was only small. He explained that Sam's body had been through a lot and needed time to heal. He asked whether there was anything he could bring and Sam looked thoughtful a moment before nodding.

"A paper would be good."

"Today's paper?" The doctor seemed happy Sam wanted something.

"If you have it." The young man offered a smile from his bed.

"Of course."

The doctor's face shone once more before he strode out. Sam shifted to get more comfortable, the warmth having left his skin when the sheets were pulled back. He wanted to get out of here and was hoping Dean would have a plan. The two brothers and hospitals had never really mixed, and any amount of time they had to spend here was far too long.

Five minutes passed before a chubby little nurse came in bearing food. It made Sam want to gag but he forced a smile and thanked her as she placed the tray within his reach. A folded paper was left beside it and he waited for her to leave before taking it in his lap. He took a shaky breath before opening it up and beginning to read.

The accident had made the second page and there was a badly focused shot of the intersection, mainly of the other driver's mangled car. Beside it was a photo of the driver in happier times, dressed for a party or a formal dinner, his face healthy and bright- a far cry from the image Sam recalled. The caption at the base of the photo read '_Reilly O'Neil, twenty-eight, was pronounced dead at the scene after he was thrown almost fifteen feet from his vehicle._' Sam let his eyes wander through the first few paragraphs, the words painting a picture of the dead man's life; his job at the local bakery, the various contributions he'd made to the community over the years. He'd been a quiet sort, hoping to one day own his own business. His death would come as a shock to many and it was clear from the article he would be sorely missed.

As Sam reached the part that described the accident, however, his brow creased and he found himself backtracking. Either his memory was wrong or the journalist had been misinformed. According to the paramedics who had attended the scene, Mr O'Neil had not survived long after being thrown from his car. A couple who had witnessed the event from a nearby convenience store had attempted to revive him, but his injuries had been too severe and he'd been dead within a minute. There was no way he could have got up and walked around, no way he could have been standing outside Sam's car. And if this was true then it followed through that at the time Sam had seen him, Reilly had already been dead. A chill took hold of the youngest Winchester as he stared down at the paper, fingers trembling slightly as he fumbled with the edges, considering what this meant. Fortunately he didn't have to consider long.

A cold breath startled Sam, a sudden nip to the air around him. In an instant the ghost was there and this time Sam knew it was no dream. The paper fell from his hands, swooping down across the floor. The pages spread like a fan, the article forgotten as Sam scrambled back against his pillows trying to escape the empty eyes and mouth that was moving, more desperately now, accusing him of something he didn't do. _Wiissaammsss-_

Sam shook his head vigorously, forcing himself calm. "No, Reilly, listen to me, you've got it all wrong-"

Reilly's hands came up to curl around Sam's shoulders, sending icy pain down his left side where the bruising was. Sam bit his lip to stop from crying out, but the ghost's grip was strong and the discomfort unbearable. "Get off me-"

Sam attempted to wriggle free but found himself restrained. _Wiiissssammnnnsss-_

With all the strength he had, Sam pushed at Reilly's arms, twisting and kicking until he was on the edge of his bed. At last his fight paid off, and ghost and man went crashing to the floor. Sam caught a brief look of frustration cross the dead man's features as they slipped and slid over the newspaper, pages tearing.

"I didn't kill you, Reilly-" Sam was gulping now, unable to catch his breath. "You're confused- lost- I understand-"

Reilly was holding him down. Sam's chest strained, lungs burning, the fire quickly spreading to his head. The ghost's image flickered and was briefly replaced by the face of a concerned nurse as she bent over him. She was yelling for help, kneeling to take Sam's head in her arms.

"You've got it all wrong-" Sam insisted, seeking Reilly's fading eyes and continuing the fight. "It was an accident, I didn't kill you-"

But the dead man had gone.

Eventually Sam gave up his struggle and let his body still. Darkness knocked at his mind's door and was welcomed like a friend. He didn't feel his body being lifted back onto the bed as the doctor called his name. He didn't see his brother appear in the doorway or hear as Dean demanded to be told what was going on, rushing in and roughly depositing his tasteless coffee on the table, a look of panic crossing his face.


	6. Chapter 6

_Okay here's chapter six- I'm getting there, even without a computer! (Although it's killing me). Thanks to everyone who's given feedback so far, I love hearing what you think :) Happy reading_

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**CHAPTER SIX**

Dean felt like he'd aged ten years in one day. It had nearly given him a heart attack, walking in to see his brother like that; unconscious, the bandage across his forehead stained with fresh blood. He'd joined the doctor's efforts to rouse Sam but had been unsuccessful. He'd listened anxiously as a nurse explained how she'd found the younger man on the floor, thrashing about, hallucinating. Hearing this, the doctor had immediately wanted to run some scans and tests, worried they might have missed something and that Sam's head injury was worse than they'd thought. Dean had let them go, reluctantly, agreeing to wait back in Sam's room until they found anything out. He'd paced for a solid hour before the doctor had returned.

"The good news," the man had said as he'd walked in through the door, "is we didn't find anything to suggest there's been any damage to Sam's brain. As far as we can tell, medically speaking, your brother's head is just fine. His concussion remains as we'd thought, and apart from tearing his sutures and aggravating his injury, we couldn't find anything else wrong. So the reason for his episode earlier is obviously not a physical one." He'd strode over to Sam's empty bed and taken a seat. "Which leads us to believe the answer is possibly psychological. Mister Richards, have you ever heard of PTSD?"

Of course Dean had heard of post-traumatic stress disorder, but it was ridiculous to think that his brother had it. How could Sam, when the two of them had seen enough in their time to break even the sanest of men? He'd almost laughed at the doctor's suggestion, brushing it off as a joke. But when he'd noticed the way the taller man was regarding him, deadly serious, he'd realized it was being considered a valid possibility.

"Look," Dean had told him, hoping to clear things up. "There are a couple of things you need to know about my brother before you go jumping to conclusions. One is that he takes things to heart, and two is that he has nightmares. This whole accident is probably playing on his mind and upsetting him more than he's letting on. I think this morning he was probably just caught up in a bad dream, I don't think it was it was due to anything else. It's not like this hasn't happened before."

The doctor had listened but hadn't seemed convinced. He'd suggested Dean try talking with the younger man when they brought him back in. Or the hospital could organize a psychologist, if necessary.

"I'll talk to him. You don't need to organize anyone." Dean hadn't liked the idea of a stranger trying to break into Sam's head.

The doctor had nodded. "Good then." He'd pushed himself up from the bed and made towards the door. "But there is help available if he needs it, just so long as you know. I'll check in with you later to see how he's doing. He should be on his way back now."

Two minutes later Sam had been brought in and lifted onto his bed. He'd been drugged up to his eyeballs and dead to the world. Dean had dropped into the chair beside his sleeping brother, raking a hand through his hair and rubbing at tired eyes. And that's where he was sitting now, listening to the rain as it hammered against the window, waiting for Sam to wake up. The noise from the weather was driving him insane.

There were thoughts trying to creep into his mind; thoughts he'd rather not entertain. Being in the hospital was reminding him too much of the last time he'd seen their father, and the final words he'd ever heard from the older man. _Save Sam, or kill him_. What the hell kind of parting gift was that? Of course he hadn't told his younger brother. He'd kept it a secret all these weeks. If he told Sam, he was worried he could lose his little brother's trust forever. And that wasn't an option, not for as long as Dean lived.

There were other things to worry about and it would do no good to dwell on the whispering of a ghost. What his father had said was irrelevant, and Dean had already made up his mind long ago; he would always watch out for his brother. Nothing bad would happen to Sam so long as he was around. Right now Sam had to get better, and Dean would just have to bite the bullet and tolerate this awful place, for his sibling's sake. He didn't want to take any unnecessary risks, especially not with his brother. He would make sure Sam was completely recovered before they even considered moving on.

_Moving on_. That got him thinking about his car. When he'd spoken with Sam earlier he'd played down his anxiety regarding its whereabouts, because he hadn't wanted to worry the younger man. But the truth was, if he didn't find it and someone discovered the stash of weapons hidden in the trunk, or the bundle of fake ID's in the glove compartment, he and his brother would be seriously screwed. And Dean couldn't help but think that they already had enough problems to contend with as it was. No need to add another to the already growing pile.

Sam's hand twitched and Dean was pulled from his troubled thoughts. He leaned forward, watching his brother's face for signs of waking. Finally Sam's eyes opened to slits and he blinked rapidly, looking around.

"Hey." Dean shifted in his chair, hoping to grab his brother's attention.

Sam suddenly stiffened and cried out.

"Whoa, whoa-" The older brother stood up, placing his hands on Sam's shoulders, trying to calm him down. "Easy there you lunatic, you'll pull the IV again."

Sam's eyes were darting about the room, tumbling over Dean, the floor, to the window, to the door. Searching.

"You okay?" Dean was staring at him. It took the younger a moment to return the gaze.

"Dean- I saw him. I saw the man in the other car. He was here, before. Twice. He was standing beside my bed. He thinks I killed him. He keeps asking why-"

Dean inhaled slowly, forcing himself to be gentle. "You didn't see him, Sam, it was only a dream. You were having a nightmare. The nurse came in and found you on the floor."

Sam nodded rapidly. "I was on the floor because Reilly pulled me off the bed-"

"Who's Reilly?"

"The other driver, the man who died. I read about him in the paper, there was an article-"

So that's where all the paper had come from. "Sam, listen to me." Dean's tone stopped his brother's string of jumbled sentences. "I don't know what you think you saw, but whatever it was, it wasn't real."

Sam looked confused. Crest-fallen.

Dean went on. "You need to calm down. Your brain sounds like it's on overload. Why don't you lie back and rest for a bit? Or we can talk, if you want to talk. I know a lot's happened in the last twelve hours or whatever it's been and you've hit your head so you're pretty jumbled up, but-"

"You don't believe me."

"I-" Dean creased his brow. "What?"

Sam looked almost panicked. "You don't believe I really saw him. Dean, he was _here_."

The older brother found himself growing frustrated. He let his eyes drop to the floor before facing his brother again. "He wasn't here, Sam, for the last time. I came in and saw you being scooped off the floor. The only other people in the room were your doctor and a nurse. You must have fallen asleep and started to dream, it's the most logical explanation. And it's normal, given what your body has been through. That's why it's so important you get some rest, get better. I need you well. _You_ need you well."

"Since when have we gone for logical explanations?" Sam's voice was very quiet.

"What?"

"You said it's _logical_ I didn't see him, but I'm not speaking logic, Dean." With each word Sam's voice grew louder again. "His spirit was here and he's angry, even though I can't work out why because it wasn't my fault that he died, and-"

Dean dropped his face into his hands. This was not going to be easy. "Okay," he said through his fingers, his defeat halting Sam. "Okay, you win. You saw him. That's fine. He was here."

Sam's expression turned incredulous. "What?"

"What?" Dean echoed, holding up his hands.

"Don't be like that."

"Don't be like what?"

"Like _that_." Sam's eyes became slightly damp and his tone a little more pleading.

Dean thought he sounded like he was five. "Oh for God's sake, Sam. What do you want me to say? Can't you hear yourself? There's no reason this guy, Reilly, or whatever the hell his name is, would have a vendetta against you. It makes no sense. Spirits can be annoying but they're rarely stupid. I'm just telling it like it is because I'm worried about you. For once, can you stop being so stubborn and _consider_ the fact that I might be right?"

Sam's mouth opened, but no words came out. Dean waited for a response but none came. He felt terrible for being so firm with his little brother when he'd meant to be gentle, but he was just so tired. He only wanted what was best for Sam, and right now he was convinced that the younger man needed rest. And a firm grip on reality. And he needed to know Sam was okay before he set out to locate their car. He couldn't leave if his brother was freaking out.

"Sammy?"

The younger shook his head and turned away.

_Great_, Dean thought. This was just what he needed.

A knock at the door startled them both and their heads snapped around to see who was there. It was the doctor, looking strangely flustered. "Ah, sorry to burst in. Dean, ah, may I have a word with you, a moment, out here in the hall?"

Despite their dispute, both brothers traded a questioning glance. Dean pushed himself up from his chair and walked towards the door, telling Sam he'd be back and following the tall man a few steps into the hallway where another man waited expectantly.

"Mister Dean Richards?"

All expression left Dean's face.

The sheriff regarded the hunter coldly, and Dean's stomach threatened to drop through the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

_Weee! Chapter seven :) Hopefully this one makes sense because I've been existing on way too much caffeine and way too little sleep this week. A bit of a spoiler warning for S1 in this chapter. Just letting you know. Thanks again for the awesome reviews- if it wasn't for you lot actually reading this I know I wouldn't keep writing it, so I really do appreciate each one of you x_

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**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Sam's ears strained. He shifted restlessly in his bed, grabbing at the sheets to pull himself into more of a sitting position. His brother's voice could be heard from somewhere just down the hall and judging by Dean's tone, the eldest was annoyed. It frustrated Sam that he couldn't make out exactly what was being said. He heard his name mentioned a couple of times, and an unfamiliar gruff, male voice. The stranger and Dean seemed to be arguing, and he heard Dean say something about it being too soon, that Sam was still too confused and fragile. Too soon for what? Sam didn't know. The stranger's voice was cold and commanding, cutting in over whatever Dean was attempting to say. Sam's eyebrows gathered as he debated whether or not to get out of bed.

Before he could reach a decision, however, the voices approached the doorway and both Dean and another man entered the room. Sam's breath caught in his throat as he realized the other man was a sheriff, and he shot his brother an almost imperceptible look of disbelief.

"Mister Sam Richards?" The sheriff's voice was unsympathetic and gravely as he neared the bed.

Sam nodded mutely, wondering what could have possibly possessed his brother to strike up an argument with this man.

"I need to ask you some questions regarding the accident you were involved in last night. For the records, we require you to give a statement. It shouldn't take all that much time." Cold eyes pinned Dean where he now stood by the window, hands shoved deep into his pockets, a look of annoyance staining his face. "Unless, of course, there's a problem, and you're physically or mentally unable?"

Sam shook his head. "No, sir. I'm fine." He glared at Dean, who glared back.

"Good." The sheriff acknowledged Sam's consent with a click of his pen and a flip to open his fat notepad. "I'm glad to hear it." He scribbled something quickly, tearing off the sheet and handing it to Dean.

Sam watched his brother suspiciously regard whatever was written there.

The sheriff explained. "This is the name and address of the garage where your car was towed. I suggest you take a moment to head over there. I'm sure you're anxious to sort it out."

Dean didn't reply, nor make any attempt to move.

Sam wondered if his older brother had lost a part of his mind. "You know what, Dean, why don't you go do that now?"

Dean's gaze flicked from the sheriff to his brother. _Because I'm not leaving you with this guy_, his eyes plainly said.

Sam continued, ignoring the look. "And while you're at it, you could go by the motel and grab me some clothes. Take a shower. Get some breakfast." _Better than staying here waiting to be recognized as the same Dean who was supposed to have died months ago, the one who committed a whole string of crimes, you jerk. _Sam shifted his attention to the sheriff, lowering his voice a little. "He gets angry when he doesn't eat. That's why he's so antsy this morning."

The large man grunted, unamused.

"No, seriously." Sam stared hard at his brother, matching Dean's glare. _I don't want you here_._ Go_. "We really need to sort this car situation out."

A myriad of emotions scattered across Dean's face, quicker than a heartbeat, completely unreadable. Sam waited, holding his breath. Dean had been acting really strange lately in the time since their father had passed away, caring when he shouldn't care, not caring when he should. Sam couldn't work him out, but now wasn't the time for either of them to slip up, despite where they were both at emotionally.

Eventually, to Sam's great relief, the older brother folded the piece of paper he was holding and shoved it into his back pocket, crossing the room and snatching his coat from where it was draped across the chair beside the bed. He locked eyes with Sam. "I'll be back soon," he said, making his way towards the door.

Sam watched uneasily as the sheriff watched the older brother leave.

"So." Sam was eager to get this over with. "You just need me to tell you my side of what happened?"

The sheriff nodded, still staring through the door after Dean. Finally he took a seat and regarded the younger man. "Whenever you're ready." His pen poised above the paper.

Sam didn't require a second invitation.

He began recounting, to the best of his ability, his version of the events that had taken place the night before, somehow managing to make a reasonable amount of sense of his muddled memories. Towards the end of the story, however, his words began to falter, and he found his attention drawn to a shape that was flickering faintly in the corner of the room by the door.

The sheriff looked up, halting his notes, eyes following Sam's but seeing nothing. "Mister Richards?"

"Uh-" Sam forced his eyes away from what he'd sworn had been Reilly, standing silently, watching them, visible one second but not the next. "Uh, sorry. I'm just- my head just feels a bit muddled. Sorry."

The sheriff studied the young man in the bed, eyes narrowing.

Reilly flickered back into focus and Sam caught the desperate expression on the dead man's face.

"You know," the sheriff said, standing, "that's probably enough anyway. I've got pretty much all I need. It's not like there's any dispute as to what happened."

Sam tore his eyes from Reilly to watch the big man straighten his coat. "Are you sure?"

The sheriff snapped closed his notepad and put away his pen. "It's just formalities, you know, we have to have a statement for our records. What you've told me should cover it. I know where to find you if I need anything else."

Sam tried to smile politely, but it came out as a grimace. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed. Reilly had disappeared again.

When the man went to leave, Sam instantly searched the room. He clenched his fists and tensed his muscles, ready for whatever might come. But when the sheriff was halfway out the door he turned back abruptly, holding up a finger to indicate he'd forgotten something important. Sam forced himself to relax and erase the anxiety from his face.

"I meant to ask-" the sheriff's tone was all curiosity. "What it is, exactly, that you and your brother do?"

_What? _Sam's thoughts raced to piece together a believable answer as he kept an eye out for any movement about the room.

The large man noticed Sam's hesitation. "I was just wondering, really, what you'd both be doing in a place like this? It's hardly a hot spot for young men like yourselves."

"Uh-" Sam started, distracted by a flicker near the window. "We, uh, took over our family's business after our dad passed away." Reilly's face was visible again; faint, but there. "We're on vacation at the moment, just having a break, you know. Road trip, quality time together, that sort of thing."

The sheriff considered this information. "Family business, eh? You two get along well enough to be able to work together? Interesting. What sort of business do you run?"

Reilly suddenly appeared beside the sheriff, his features angry and cold. Sam gasped, but the sheriff didn't flinch. The big man was obviously unaware of the spirit by his side, though he rubbed his arm, as if feeling a chill. Reilly disappeared.

Sam sat stiffly, trying to suppress his urge to leap out of the bed. What kind of business did they run? "We're into pest control."

The sheriff raised his eyebrows. "You get much work out of that?"

Sam swallowed roughly and nodded rapidly. "You'd be surprised."

Thirty seconds later, when the big man had finally gone, Sam threw back the stiff sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Awkwardly he stood, holding the metal railing for support. He yanked the IV free from his arm and scanned the room. Reilly had gone.

"I've had enough." He took a step, moving on wobbly legs, searching the room in an attempt to locate his clothes. "If you wont voluntarily rest in peace, I'll need to find a way to make you. I have way too much shit going on right now to worry about dealing with you too."

The room spun violently, nearly sending him to the floor. He grabbed at a corner of the table and managed to steady himself, breathing through the pain in his head. This wasn't the brightest idea, he realized, but he couldn't see another option. There was a spirit, it was angry; there was no other way to end this aside from hunting it down. And his brother didn't believe him, so he'd have to do it alone.

Reilly's body had to be somewhere, the local morgue, perhaps. Sam didn't know what he hoped to achieve by locating it but figured it was as good a place as any to start. He ungracefully pulled on his clothes, stopping briefly to catch his breath. He was aching, nauseas, and dizzy, and his whole left side burned as his bruised muscles cramped and stretched. He scribbled a quick note to Dean on a tissue, the letters wobbly and smudged. He left it beside the bed where someone would find it. His brother would no doubt freak out.

The hall was empty, and he waited a moment before creeping from his room. He trod lightly, keeping close to the wall, making for the nearest stairwell and using his weight to push open the door when he came to it. One foot in front of the other, he all but stumbled down the stairs. He found an exit easily and slipped, undetected, into the miserable, rainy day, hugging his jacket around him and disappearing into the nearest thicket of dripping trees.

Silent as a ghost, Sam had sucessfully checked himself out.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hey guys, okay here's chapter eight. And yes, Funkyspunk, it contains a smattering of Dean guilt- I know you've been hanging out for it! (Don't worry, there'll be more to come) Thanks everyone for reading and sticking with me so far, and of course for the great reviews :)_

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**CHAPTER EIGHT**

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Dean thanked the cab driver and turned to face what was perhaps the grottiest garage he'd ever seen. Old wrecks leaned and cluttered against one another, stained with rust and months (possibly years) of weather and neglect. There were mounds of tires, all balding and torn, mangled car seats and bits of dashboards, piled six foot high, fighting for space. A tall wire fence encircled the great mess, barbed at the top, wrapped around the block like an adjustable cake tin, holding everything in. Dean made his way up the muddy drive and scanned the chaos for his Impala. It pained him that she'd even been brought to a place like this.

He hadn't realized just how much the hospital had been getting to him until he'd stepped outside. As soon as he'd felt the cold air on his face his thoughts had cleared and it was as if he could think again. He'd hailed a cab, stealing a glance back in the direction of Sam's room. He hadn't liked leaving his brother with the sheriff but knew it had been the wisest thing to do.

The cab driver had been chatty, telling him all about the twin towns; their history, how they'd been built, the debate over whether eventually they should be made one. Dean had tuned him out, choosing instead to watch the scenery blur by, thinking about how hard he'd been on his brother earlier and feeling terrible about it because he couldn't even justify why he'd acted the way he had. He'd meant to make things better, not worse. How was it that the older brother always seemed to screw things up?

Unable to visually locate his vehicle, Dean marched towards a decrepit building. As he got closer he noticed a man working on an engine in a shabby workshop, his face a mess of grease and stubble. Dean cleared his throat as he approached the door, causing the man to startle. The older brother apologized and explained he was looking for his car.

"Of _course_!" The man's face lit up in a way that troubled Dean. He wiped off his hands and extended one for Dean to shake. "Dirk Wiseman, pleased to meet you. I've got your car around the back. What a beauty, eh? My sister had one just like her, spent months doing her up. Took off as soon as she'd finished, leaving this town in a cloud of dust and swearing like a mad woman she'd never return. I heard that engine hum all the way to the horizon, damn! That car was something else-" The mechanic's eyes became glassy as he drifted in and out of memories. Eventually he snapped out of it, motioning Dean to follow as he stepped into the rain and rounded the building. "I gotta warn you though," he called over his shoulder. "The damage ain't pretty."

_Ain't pretty_. As Dean's eyes fell upon her he could have cried. The bonnet was a complete mess and, as Sam had said, most of the windows on the right side were blown out. The front passenger door was pushed in like it had been stuffed into the seat. Dean ran a hand along the roof and thought about all the hours he'd spent fixing her up just recently. All that time and energy, wasted because of this.

Dirk stood back as Dean completed his inspection. If the mechanic said anything, the younger man didn't hear it. Dean was too busy gathering his frustration and trying not to explode. He couldn't believe the state his car was in. It reminded him again how lucky he was to have his brother alive.

"I was going to take a good look at her this afternoon," Dirk explained. "Open her up, see what's going on."

Dean growled as he leaned in through the space where the front passenger window had been, plucking one of his favourite cassettes off the floor. Water poured out and he shook it dry.

"If she needs some parts, I got plenty." Dirk waved towards his workshop. "I can get her fixed up, get her running. She'll be as good as new."

Dean backed up and stood beside the mechanic, hands resting on his hips, unable to tear his eyes from his car. "It's Dirk, right?"

Dirk nodded.

Dean finally met the man's gaze. "I need you to do me a favour, Dirk."

Dirk was all ears. "Sure, whatever you need, just name it."

"I need you to promise you wont touch my car."

Dirk laughed uncertainly, but fell silent as soon as he realized Dean was serious. "Don't touch-?"

"My car," Dean clarified. "Please."

An awkward silence stretched between them as Dean waited for the older man's acquiescence. Eventually it came, albeit begrudgingly. The man looked sorely disappointed and Dean reached into his wallet to gather a couple of bills as a peace offering. He held them out and nodded for Dirk to take them.

"If I can just keep her here, until I sort something out." Dean watched the mechanic frowning at the cash. "It wont be for very long. I have a friend I can call, and we'll get her towed away."

Dirk was shaking his head, mumbling incoherently about there obviously being something in the water of this town. Dean couldn't understand what he was on about, so he let the mumblings slide.

The cash disappeared into one of Dirk's pockets. "You don't want me to fix your car? I wont fix your car." He shrugged dramatically before beginning to walk away. "So long as you know I'm more than happy to, if you need me to. I got all the gadgets and I'd make the time. I helped my sister when she was fixing hers. I know the ins and outs as good as anybody else. But if you don't want me to touch her…"

Dean raked a hand through his damp hair. No, he did not want Dirk fixing his car. Not now. Preferably not ever.

"I'll be in the workshop if you need me." The older man grumbled, vanishing in the direction they'd come from.

Dean was left to stand, alone.

The hunter waited a moment to be sure the coast was clear before popping the trunk and beginning to stash his and Sam's weapons into a bag. Once he was finished he moved to the front and bashed the glove compartment until it came open, scooping out its contents and giving the inside of the car a once-over. His searching revealed a half eaten packet of peanut M&M's and his heart leapt for the sheer joy of finding them. _Small miracles_, he thought, stuffing a handful into his mouth and grinning as the chocolate melted against his teeth.

Slinging the bag over his shoulder and shoving the candy into his pocket, he took one last pitiful look at his beloved vehicle. It was going to take a long time to get her looking right again. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, shaking his head and placing a hand apologetically upon her roof. He held his breath a moment before picking up his feet and reluctantly heading off.

On his way out he stopped by the workshop where Dirk was back in action, hunched over whatever he was trying to repair. The younger man lingered in the entry, quietly watching the older man's fingers fumble and twist through their work. After a minute Dean voiced the question that had been playing on his mind, asking whether Dirk had known the other driver who'd been killed.

Dirk's eyes grew sad and he half looked up. "Yes, I knew him." He bit his lip, as if sifting through his thoughts.

Dean waited for more, but the mechanic simply shook his head.

"I'm sorry," Dean told him, his tone genuine despite his anger at what had happened to Sam and his car.

Dirk awkwardly returned to his fumbling.

Dean adjusted the heavy bag on his shoulder and headed out into the rain.

Drops pitter-pattered against his jacket as he made his way from the garage along the road. It turned out the motel he and Sam had been staying at was only two blocks away, but it seemed like miles in this weather. His thoughts kept pace with his steps as he tumbled through estimates of how long it would take to fix his car, what new parts he might possibly need, and how he was going to break the news to Bobby that it was messed up again. He'd also have to explain to the older hunter that Sam was in the hospital with a nasty concussion, seriously freaked out and convinced that there was an angry spirit out to get him. Dean let his mind hover over this fact a moment, flipping it around, turning it inside and out, waiting to see if he could come to another conclusion.

But his thoughts on the matter remained the same. As much as it pained him, he couldn't help but believe that Sam's 'encounters' with Reilly had simply been a figment of the younger man's shaken imagination.

Turning the key in the lock of the motel room door, Dean dragged himself and his bag full of weapons and illegal bits and pieces inside and flipped on the light. He dumped his stuff beside his bed and made straight for the bathroom, not even bothering to organize his clothes or a towel, turning on the shower and stripping off his damp jacket, shirt and jeans. He stood for a moment, watching steam fill the room, before stepping under the scorching water and tilting his face towards the showerhead. He closed his eyes. What a day. What a horrible, horrible day. He wondered how Sam had gone with the sheriff. He really hoped his brother was alright.

_Oh Sammy_, he thought. _I'm sorry for being such a dick earlier_. He'd head back to the hospital after this and attempt to make it up to the younger man. He'd be gentle and patient, and would actually listen if his brother wanted to talk. Even if it meant hearing Sam ramble on about things that didn't make sense, Dean would shut up and bite his tongue.

Twenty minutes later, when there was no more hot water, Dean stepped from the shower and hastily got dressed. The room was freezing and he quickly moved about, gathering clean clothes for his brother as well as the book he'd seen Sam reading over the past couple of days. He stuffed them all in a bag and let himself flop down on the edge of his bed. He grabbed his cell from where it rested on his pillow, preparing to dial Bobby's number. He really hoped the older hunter would help them out.

A glance at his phone revealed three missed calls and one new voice mail. Dean frowned at the unfamiliar number, anxiety wasting no time curling throughout his stomach and chest. Quickly he listened to the message, his heart rate increasing.

He couldn't believe it when the doctor's voice calmly informed him that Sam had disappeared.


	9. Chapter 9

_Once again, too much caffeine. My cup of coffee has convinced me to post this now. So, without further ado, here's chapter nine. I hope you like it :) Thanks again for all the awesome reviews! _

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**CHAPTER NINE**

The morgue wasn't difficult to find. It was a squat building, separated from the hospital by a small car park and marked with a large black and white sign. Sam tripped and stumbled his way through the spaces between parked cars, splashing through puddles and attempting to stay upright. His head was spinning. The whole left side of his face had gone numb.

He knew he didn't have much time. Someone would come looking for him, a nurse or his doctor perhaps. Once they realized he was gone they'd start searching, no doubt calling his brother and telling Dean about the note. Sam had simply written that he was going to take care of business. Dean would understand. He'd written a time in the bottom right hand corner of the tissue. 15:00. Dean would know to meet him back at the motel room then.

Approaching the entry, Sam suddenly realized he didn't have much of a plan. Or had he realized this earlier, and dismissed it as unimportant? His thoughts couldn't be pinned down as they spun around his aching brain at such a ridiculous rate, making him nauseas. He took a moment to rest against a wall, leaning into the cold bricks. What was he doing again? He just needed to find Reilly's body, find out whether the bastard was being cremated or buried, and when. Then he could sit down and think about what he was going to do, formulate a plan of action then.

It didn't take much effort to get into the building. Sam slipped in through the door like a shadow and dissolved down a dimly lit hallway. He was in the middle of thinking how great these small town facilities were, their lack of staff and limited security making them easy to infiltrate, when approaching footsteps sent him ducking into the nearest room. He flattened himself behind the door and listened as the footsteps passed him by. He breathed a sigh of relief, berating himself for his carelessness, and peeked around the corner to be sure the coast was clear before stepping out again. A pair of voices floated to meet his ears, halting his step, sending his eyes to another door that lead to what appeared to be an adjoining room to the one he'd been in. One of the voices sounded familiar, so Sam, ever curious, turned his attention to the conversation and sidled up to the slightly opened door.

The sheriff was there. Sam could see the large man pacing as a smaller man leaned against an examining table. The smaller man looked slightly nervous, adjusting his glasses and continuously licking his lips. There was a thin film of sweat glistening over his brow and his shoulders trembled. He looked like a frightened animal in the larger man's presence.

The sheriff stopped pacing and held up a finger, as if in warning. "It's like I told you, Ed. Plain and simple. You just write the report like we discussed and we can put all this behind us. No one's gotta get hurt."

Ed's wet lips struggled to form words. "You never said anything about anyone getting hurt."

"That's because I thought we had an agreement." The sheriff's tone made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand on end. He listened from his hiding place behind the door. "We do have an agreement, don't we, Ed?"

"I- I could loose my job, Bill."

"_I'm_ the one who keeps you in that job, you fool. Now will you write the report the way we decided, or will I have to write it myself?"

Ed's mouth opened and closed uselessly, like a fish. Sam noticed the way the small man's shoulders slumped further; he was scared of the sheriff and knew he couldn't win. Eventually he nodded jerkily, drawing a smile to the sheriff's lips.

"Good," the big man stated, clapping Ed on the back and beginning his pacing again. "I knew you'd see reason in the end."

Sam's brow furrowed as he wondered what he'd stumbled upon. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Despite his instincts screaming at him to get away, he edged closer, locking his eyes onto the sheriff as the man moved about the room.

"So long as it's official that Reilly had been drinking, there'll be no questions asked." The sheriff paused by a pile of files and lifted one from the top, flipping it open and browsing its contents. "No one cares about a kid in a lousy one-horse town, Ed. You should know that by now."

Ed's eyes met the floor.

"He was a waste of space, anyway." The sheriff threw the file carelessly back onto the bench, its pages slipping free, some falling to the ground. "Always thinking he was better than everyone, better than _me_. Well, I've had the last laugh now."

Sam's heart hammered in his chest as he struggled to piece together what the sheriff was saying. A wave of dizziness hit him and he squeezed his eyes closed, fighting against the pain throbbing through his head and the sudden tilting of the floor. He reached a hand to steady himself, accidentally clipping a broom that leaned against the doorframe. It clattered to the ground, the sound colossal, and Sam didn't have to look up to know that he'd been found out.

Reflexes took over and he kicked his wobbly legs into action, gathering all his strength and scrambling across the room. There was no further care for subtlety as he entered the hallway in a tangle of arms and sliding feet, heading for the front door and shooting through it like a bullet from a gun. He heard the sheriff calling, beginning the chase. But Sam didn't stop to look back.

There were dense trees behind the morgue and Sam headed straight for their cover. Bushes snatched and scratched at his face as he ran into their depths. One twig in particular snagged his sleeve, and he had to stop and fight to rip it free, wincing as it broke his skin. He could hear the sheriff's heavy footfalls drawing nearer every moment. He willed his legs to keep him moving; he couldn't afford to be caught by the man.

The ground began to slope, and Sam's steps became unsteady. It didn't take much to trip him; a wrong step over a log sent him hurtling towards the ground. He tumbled, over and over, hands flying up to shield his face as he held his tongue to stop from crying out. He fell forever, hitting his head more than once and feeling the breath driven from his lungs as his whole body was shaken up. Eventually the rolling stopped, and Sam felt the painful ground drop away. He felt himself begin to fall, before landing with a splash in shallow, icy water. The shock sent cramps and spasms through his muscles as he thrashed about and fought to breathe.

Somehow, he struggled from the water and up onto a muddy bank. He lay there, panting, exhausted and unable to move, listening for the sheriff but hearing only the sound of running water, and the rain and wind through the trees. He tried to sit up, but couldn't; his arms and legs refused to work. He felt the wound on his head beginning to bleed and his stomach twist into a knot. Rolling over slightly, he shuddered violently and was sick.

A flickering to his left drew his attention, and he saw Reilly standing nearby. Sam blinked at the dead man, wondering if Reilly would be happy to watch him die. Reilly bent down and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, but Sam didn't have the strength to pull away. The haunting face drew nearer, and Sam's vision swam, growing dark around the edges before beginning to fade.

Reilly's mouth moved, but Sam blacked out before he could hear whatever the spirit was attempting to whisper.

Back up on the slope under the trees, the sheriff plucked a broken hospital wristband from the ground and slowly read the name.


	10. Chapter 10

_Thanks so much for the reviews guys, I was a little nervous my evil sheriff wouldn't go down too well so I was happy you didn't mind the way the story turned. Oh poor Sam- I do love beating him up ;) Thanks for reading! I know I don't reply to individual reviews but I love your feedback and take it all on board. Ta :)_

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**CHAPTER TEN**

Dean read Sam's note once more before gathering it into his fist and hurling it into the trash. What the hell had his brother been thinking? Sam was in no state to be heading out on his own, chasing ghosts or whatever it was he thought he was doing. It was freezing outside, and the rain was currently whipping at the building. It hammered against the window of Sam's room in mocking laughter, making fun of the older brother as he pulled at his brain for any ideas as to where his little brother might have gone.

The doctor paced in the corner, occasionally spouting what Dean considered poor excuses and lame apologies. The hospital staff had been negligent; Sam shouldn't have been able to leave so easily. Dean was angry with the nurses and the doctor for their failure to properly look after his brother. He let this anger simmer, stoking it like a fire. So long as it existed, he didn't have to face his frustration towards himself for leaving Sam alone.

Quickly growing tired of the doctor's ramblings, Dean set about grabbing the remainder of Sam's possessions and stuffing them into a plastic bag. He wasn't going to find Sam by hanging around here, and he sure as hell wasn't going to wait back at the motel for four hours until Sam turned up. There was enough time between now and three o'clock for his younger brother to get into more than a spot of trouble, and, judging by the way the day had gone so far, Dean didn't like their chances of a happy ending. He had to find Sam now.

Twisting the bag around his wrist, Dean quickly marched out of the room.

The doctor snapped into action. "Mister Richards, please, let us call someone. The sheriff, maybe-"

Dean stopped and spun to face the man who scurried after him. He didn't need to say anything for the doctor to get the message that calling someone was not a good idea.

"But Sam could be anywhere…" The doctor's voice trailed off.

Dean shook his head and began walking again. "I don't need the sheriff's help to find my brother, and I don't need your help because you've already helped enough. Sam _could_ be anywhere, but I'll find him. It's not like we're in the middle of a bustling city, I doubt he's gone far."

"But Sam's _not well_, Dean. He needs to be brought back here where he can rest and get better." The doctor followed the angry brother down the hall and into an elevator.

Dean punched the buttons. "Being here hasn't done much to help him so far, so I can't see how bringing him back will make a difference. I'd rather keep an eye on him myself, if you can understand that."

The doctor's arms folded over his chest. "I understand you're angry, and you're worried." He shrugged. "Fair enough, I would be too. But this is your brother's health we're talking about, Dean. Don't refuse to bring him back here just because of this incident. Don't deny him help if he needs it. Surely _you _can understand that."

The elevator shifted and _ding_ed at the ground floor. Dean shot the doctor a look that clearly revealed he was more than simply angry and worried. "I just want to find my brother and know that he's okay. When I find him, I'll decide whether he needs to come back here or not." The doors opened and Dean paused before walking on. "But if I can help it, you wont be seeing him again. It's nothing personal but, like I said, I'd prefer to look after him myself. I am capable of looking after him, you know."

The doctor held up a hand to indicate he wasn't questioning Dean's ability to care for his brother, but the older sibling strode away, unwilling to give any more to the conversation. The doctor went to follow but was stopped by someone calling his name, asking his help with something. Dean disappeared through the front doors and vanished out into the rain. The doctor could do nothing but watch him go.

Outside, Dean found himself wandering in circles as he debated which way to head. It was difficult to think like Sam at the best of times, and now was no exception. He couldn't hail a cab if he had no destination, and his lack of direction rapidly fed his frustration, making him desperate and anxious, as well as every emotion in between. Eventually he took shelter outside an entry to a building near one of the hospital car parks and tried to calm himself down, breathing deeply, not wanting to believe this mess could possibly be his fault. Fleetingly he wondered what their father would think of his eldest son's most recent screw up. Dean was always trying- but failing- to look out for Sam. He couldn't help but feel he'd yet again let the older man down.

Rain sprayed his face as he bit his lip and scanned the car park. He hadn't even had a chance to call Bobby, but now he figured he'd wait until he could find a way to explain what was going on, find Sam and set at least a few things right before attempting to sort out his car and appeal to the older hunter for help. He didn't doubt Bobby would come to their aid; their family friend had been such a great support recently after their father had died, when the Impala had been smashed up the first time. But now Dean had to ask for that support again, and it was hard since Bobby didn't owe the brothers anything. Dean's own stubbornness made finding the words difficult. He hated to admit it, but not being able to fix this situation on his own bugged the hell out of him.

It was as he was contemplating all of this that two things happened to grab his attention. One was that his eyes caught a strange figure flickering in and out of focus outside a building further to his left, and two was that the doctor suddenly appeared to his right wrapped in a thick coat and brandishing a cell phone and a set of car keys.

"I know you don't want my help," the doctor explained as he rushed over to the now frowning older brother. "But it's almost the end of my shift and I really am worried about Sam. I decided to come find you and tell you that I have a car if you need to be taken anywhere, and a phone in case you change your mind and want me to call the sheriff-" He wiped the rain from his forehead. "You can tell me to take a hike if you want, but I'm glad you're still here and not across town already, because I feel terrible for what happened to your brother and really do want to see him safe and sound. Whether you bring him back to the hospital or not is your affair. I just-"

Dean held up a hand to silence the man and took a step towards the building where he'd seen the ghostly image.

The doctor's eyes darted between Dean and where the younger man was looking. "Mister Richards…?"

Dean took another step, searching for the man he was sure he'd seen, his heart rate gathering speed.

The doctor's brow crinkled as he also stepped into the rain. He eyed Dean suspiciously, waiting for a response.

Dean's eyes caught the image again and his racing heart threatened to stop. He knew the answer to his question before he voiced it, but still he had to ask. "What did Reilly look like?" He spun to face the doctor.

The doctor was caught off guard and took a moment to process Dean's words. "What did- Reilly? What do you want to know what he looked like for?"

"_What did he look like?"_ Dean demanded, flipping his gaze back to the image.

The doctor hurried to piece together a vague description of the dead man, and Dean's suspicion was confirmed.

"Damn it!" the older brother hissed, taking off at a run. "You son of a _bitch_-!"

The doctor scurried behind, his expression confused and slightly afraid.

The image Dean was chasing faded, causing him to skid to a stop. "I didn't believe him-" he panted, eyes darting this way and that. "Sam told me this guy was haunting him and I passed it off as being all in his head-" He pulled at his hair and began moving along the side of the building, footsteps light and quick as he crossed the gravel. "I should have known Sam wouldn't make this shit up. I should have listened to him-"

"Mister Richards- Dean- I think you need to calm down-"

"Now Sam's gone-" Dean scanned the dense trees at the back of the building. "He's gone and now _I'm_ seeing this creepy guy. What does that mean? What if this jerk's hurt my brother?"

The doctor held out a hand to indicate Dean should take deep breaths.

Dean ignored him and let out a frustrated scream, directing his voice at the trees. "_You piece of shit- if you've hurt my brother, so help me God, I _will_ hunt your ass down- I'll tear you limb from limb- I'll-"_

Reilly appeared once again, this time a few feet from Dean's face. The older brother lunged at the image, fingers longing to be wrapped around a weapon as he swung several futile punches. The doctor was saying something but to Dean's ears, the words were lost. Reilly disappeared and appeared further into the trees, baiting the angry hunter, drawing him deeper into the vegetation. Dean followed, eager for a fight, his legs wasting no time carrying him away.

On and on he ran, away from the building and the car park. The ground began to slope and Reilly continued to flicker, always out of reach, always just a little too far away. Dean couldn't tell if the doctor was following; he was driven by a need he couldn't quite explain and didn't bother looking back. Eventually the slope came to an end, and the ground dropped slightly to reveal the muddy bank of a narrow river. Dean slowed his pace and searched for Reilly, but the ghost had disappeared.

It was the tip of a shoe that caught his attention, and Dean leaned over to get a better look. There was something, _someone_, curled into the curve of the bank, covered in mud and leaves. Dean jumped down, landing awkwardly in the soft earth, scurrying over to the figure and wiping away the sickeningly familiar dark hair from the face caked in blood and dirt. Sam trembled and groaned under his brother's touch, shying away and squeezing his eyes closed.

Dean sucked in a breath, all thoughts of the dead man forgotten. He pulled Sam into his lap and wrapped his freezing sibling in an uncharacteristically gentle hug. He couldn't believe the state Sam was in, and his luck in finding him. He raised his head and called for the doctor, hoping the medic wasn't too far away.


	11. Chapter 11

_Well, it's been a miserable three weeks here in my city and we've been drowned in rain. I was going to wait to write this chapter but decided I needed some limp!sam to cheer me up, so here it is. Fluffy chapter eleven. Thanks for all your great comments on the last chapter :) Happy reading everyone!_

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**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Sam drifted into and out of consciousness as he was lifted from the ground. He could hear his brother's voice and that of another man, somebody familiar, as they exchanged concerned words, talking about things Sam couldn't understand. His whole body was aching and his muscles refused to work. He couldn't stop shaking and his eyes were heavy, locking shut when he wanted them open so he could follow what was going on. A couple of times he heard his brother's words in his ear, reassuring whispers of comfort, though it was obvious Dean was worried- each sentence trembled at the end. Sam tried to gather his feet under him and attempt to walk, to let Dean know he was okay, but the connection between his brain and extremities didn't function and his limbs barely moved at all. His head spun so fast he no longer knew if he was upright, or lying down. It didn't matter. The important thing was his brother was here and he would take Sam away from the icy ranting of the river, the cold threats of the rain and the incessant hissing of the trees. The youngest knew he would be alright now.

Blackness came suddenly, snatching Sam back into oblivion. He spent a while twisting in its emptiness before receding to a place of grey, painless fog. Sam's eyes cracked open briefly and he saw he was leaning against his brother's shoulder, his upper body engulfed in as much as possible of Dean's leather jacket, the warmth trying, but failing, to seep through to his numb skin. He was stretched out on the ground in a car park, and they were waiting beside a car. How had they got here and why were they waiting? Dean's voice clashed against that of the man from earlier, his arms wrapping tighter around the bundle that was Sam as he argued about goodness knew what. Sam burrowed deeper towards the echoing in his big brother's chest, listening to the hammering of Dean's heart and the quick breaths that jumped into and out of his lungs. He didn't know where he was but he knew that Dean would have a plan. Big brother always had a way through any situation, and Sam held confidently to the knowledge that Dean would pull him through whatever mess they were in now.

With a start, Sam realized he was being lifted again. His head was supported as he was awkwardly spread across a car's back seat. He wanted to roll into a ball but there were hands stopping him from doing so. The seat was too short and he bent at an impossible angle, arms and legs all locked up, screaming to break free. Why couldn't he break free? His body was a prison. He wanted to move and see that his brother was still around, but Sam was trapped inside his head. He was desperate to speak but couldn't move his mouth, and his thoughts thrashed about, tangling themselves inside his brain in great messy knots until a gentle pressure rested above his brow. It stilled his panicked mind and escorted him into a dreamless sleep.

For hours he drifted. Or was it months, perhaps years? Sam wandered the foggy fields of oblivion thinking and feeling nothing, until a voice drew him to the surface of consciousness and he became aware of his body once again. He was wrapped in blankets and there were patches of warmth around his neck and chest, a funny buzzing in his ears. He didn't like the way his head felt so he remained as still as he could, processing his surroundings and concluding he was in a bed. Someone carefully took him around the shoulders and raised him from his pillows. Warm liquid met his lips, its sweetness coaxing him to drink. His dry throat reacted and he choked a little, the fluid spilling down his chin. His eyes blinked open half-mast and he saw Dean leaning over him, a faint smile brushing the older brother's features as their gazes met. Sam attempted to return the smile, but his muscles felt like leather and it was a chore to even get his mouth to twitch.

Dean began speaking, but the words were undefined. Sam chased his sibling's voice but found it impossible to catch. Another man appeared and this time Sam recognized his doctor from the hospital. Was he back in that God-awful place? A broken scan of the room revealed he wasn't, so he relaxed, relieved, and closed his eyes again.

"Sammy- no- hey, come on, stay awake."

Reluctantly Sam's eyes pulled open, a reaction to his brother's commanding tone. Dean's brow was knotted but quickly softened as the younger responded, focusing his stare. Chunks of memory began to wash up in Sam's mind, a fraction of this, a splinter of that. He desperately blinked them into place, unable to remember everything but recalling suddenly that something bad had happened. Someone had been chasing him; that's how he'd ended up in this state.

A whimper escaped his throat as Sam struggled to inform his brother. He needed Dean to know why he'd been running away. The last thing he'd seen was a dead man's face hovering close to his, and the last thing he'd known was that he was being chased by a sheriff who'd been involved in the accident, though Sam wasn't sure how. The jumbled sentences caught and bunched in his throat as he tried to set them free, causing him to cough and bringing tears to his eyes. He lay there gasping and fighting to breathe, struggling to sit up but growing more exhausted with each move he made.

Dean's steadying hand fell upon his shoulder. "Whoa, easy there, Sam. Calm down."

But Sam couldn't calm. He felt himself slipping as he continued to try to speak. Eventually the darkness came again and the fight in him disintegrated, pulling him back from reality and stealing whatever words rested unspoken upon his lips.

Explanations, it appeared, would have to wait until he woke. Sam drifted away from his brother and felt briefly anxious, before he lost all his senses and felt nothing more.


	12. Chapter 12

_Okay, I found this chapter really hard to write, but I'm sick to death of looking at it so I'm posting it now. Thanks so much for all the great responses to this story so far! You guys are lovely. Let me know how this one goes down. I promise I wont keep Sam asleep for long. He has some more trouble to get into yet, don't worry :)_

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**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Dean checked the ring of salt around Sam's bed, making sure it hadn't been disturbed. The younger brother slept on, oblivious to Dean's actions, a crinkle lining his brow as though he was deep in thought instead of dreams. Dean wished Sam would wake so they could talk about what had happened. He wanted to apologize to Sam for not believing him, for brushing him off when his concerns had proved well founded. Dean didn't like having to think up a plan to deal with Reilly on his own. He felt unbalanced, and strangely incomplete. He was desperate for Sam's input on the matter. Unfortunately, he doubted that the younger would be waking any time soon.

The doctor had freaked out when he'd reached them by the river. Initially he'd ranted, wanting to know how in God's name Dean had known to find his brother there. Dean had skilfully avoided answering, pulling Sam up onto his knees and begging the man's help to carry him. The doctor had shut up then, distracted by Sam's condition. Immediately he'd ordered Sam be taken back to the hospital where he could receive proper medical treatment. Dean had, of course, refused, and the two men had engaged in a rather heated debate as they'd carried Sam back up the slope towards the car park.

Dean had won, in the end. Perhaps it was the fire in his eyes, or his fierce protection of Sam, he wasn't sure, but the doctor had backed off and had agreed to give the brothers a lift to their motel. They'd lay Sam across the back seat of the doctor's small car and Dean had climbed in beside his brother, cradling Sam's battered head in his lap as he'd whispered to let the younger know he was there. The doctor had continuously glanced back at them through his rear view mirror, worry in his eyes, but Dean had been too busy with his sibling to notice the troubled stare. They'd arrived at the motel and had carefully lifted Sam into the room and onto one of the beds. They'd then stripped him of his drenched clothes and had worked to bring his temperature back up again.

Dean had barely noticed the doctor in the room as they'd worked, because he'd been so focused on fixing Sam. He'd not been watching as curiosity had built in the lines across the doctor's face, nor seen how the man had stood, regarding him. It was only when the doctor had asked where Dean had done his training that the older brother had paused to look up, confusion gracing his features.

The doctor had shrugged. "Your skills are exceptional. I'd like to know where you've learnt."

Dean had then spent the next few heartbeats groping for an answer, but had been unable to supply one.

The doctor had thankfully let the matter slide, and Dean had pretended not to notice the man's expression shifting slightly from one of worry, to guarded respect. Sam's temperature had eventually come back up again, and he'd woken briefly. Dean had attempted to hold his attention, but it was useless and Sam had slipped away once again.

The kid was bruised and scratched, with a thousand cuts to his arms and face. The wound on his head had become deeper, and it had taken Dean a while to wash the trails of blood from his cheeks and hair. There had been bits of sticks and leaves through his clothes, and Dean had wondered whether Sam had been fighting. He'd cast his mind back to Reilly and had wondered whether the ghost had been sending him a message when it had led him to Sam. It was almost as if Reilly had been teasing him, saying _See what I can do to your brother while you're not around_? Dean had clenched his fists then, moving to the sink to wring out the cloth he'd used to clean Sam's face. He'd see to it that Reilly was going down.

The doctor had been very patient, and had simply watched as Dean had worked. But as soon as the older brother had announced that Sam would be okay, the man's questions had started to come. He'd again asked to know how Dean had been so lucky as to stumble upon his brother by the river, when there'd been no evidence to lead him there. Dean had struggled, scraping for answers, trying to come up with something that made sense. Luckily enough, the medic's cell phone had begun to ring. It was the hospital, calling to say that the doctor was needed back there in a hurry. Dean had wasted no time helping the man gather his things.

Half way out the door the medic had paused. "I'd like to continue this conversation, Mister Richards, if you don't mind."

Dean had nodded, "Sure." Though he'd had no intention of picking at the subject again.

The doctor had then asked Dean to call if anything changed with the younger brother, and had made a mad dash across the car park through the rain. Dean had re-entered the room and had locked the door, searching through his bag of weapons for the salt.

He'd found it, eventually, but there hadn't been enough to line the room. He'd had to settle for drawing a circle around his brother's bed instead. He'd clattered and clanged, pushing things out of the way to move the bed away from the wall to make some space. Sam, to his dismay, had been oblivious to the noise, and had slept, without stirring, through the whole thing.

Three o'clock had come, then four, then five. Dean had spent the afternoon pacing, hoping Sam would wake. He'd fired up the laptop, but had sat, staring through the screen. He hadn't even known where to start researching, so he'd turned it off again. Preparation for a hunt had always been Sam's thing, not his. He was gifted at blowing stuff up, and 'making a mess', as his brother liked to say. Eventually he'd plopped down in a chair, scooping his cell from the table where it had sat. He'd decided it was time to call Bobby, even if he couldn't quite explain what was going on.

He'd dialled the number, and had held his breath. But Bobby's voice mail had answered, and Dean had cursed, before leaving a short message for the hunter to call him back. Frustrated, he'd thrown his cell phone across the room to join the empty bag of salt by the door.

Now six-thirty had arrived, and day had given way to night. Sam still hadn't woken, and Dean rubbed at his eyes, troubled by how tired he was. He needed to stay awake, to watch over his brother and try to come up with a plan to deal with Reilly. But he'd barely eaten all day and was exhausted from worry and stress. Despite his best efforts, Dean felt himself edging towards sleep.

Outside, the rain had ceased its falling, and stars shone like diamonds through great cracks in the clouds. The moon shivered like a broken fingernail above the horizon, and the twin town's lights sparkled in the darkness. The garage where the Impala was being kept was lit up like circus a few blocks away, its tall gates locked shut. A patrol car crept down the road like a cat, slowing as it passed by the motel, crawling along, its driver a faceless observer in the shadows. It came to an almost stop, before speeding up and disappearing again.

And Reilly hovered, unnoticed, by the door to motel room number five, standing guard.


	13. Chapter 13

_Lucky number thirteen :) I figured I'd post this now too. It's a tiny bit longer than the others, but I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for the reviews on the last one! Hopefully this one makes sense too._

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**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

In all honesty, Sam couldn't be sure what had caused him to wake. He only knew that he was awake, and that he felt like he'd been run over by something big and heavy. The room was dark and eerily quiet, and he could just make out the still form of his brother sleeping in the chair not three feet from his bed. When would Dean learn not to sleep in such awkward places? He'd no doubt awake in the morning, complaining of a sore neck.

Usually, Sam would have woken his sibling, but this time something else pulled his attention. He gently pushed back the covers and bit his lip as his body screamed its way into a sitting position. His bleary eyes blinked through the dim towards the front door. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he felt someone might be standing outside.

Compared to earlier, Sam's thoughts arranged themselves into a somewhat ordered fashion. Despite the pain in his head he recalled quite clearly what had happened, and what the sheriff had said. He knew that the man had chased him down the slope near the morgue and that he'd stumbled, falling into the river. He'd lain there with Reilly watching, but not harming him, as he'd lost consciousness, slipping into a restless oblivion. Then Dean had come, and had carried him away.

Sam eased himself to his feet and tenderly regarded the figure slumped in the chair by his side. Dean must have been exhausted because normally even the slightest whisper would have jolted him awake. Sam smiled. He was yet to find the right words to let Dean know just how grateful he was for all the times the older had helped him back to his feet. Big brother was such a hero. There was no doubt in Sam's mind about that. On wobbly legs, the younger crept across the room. He'd just peer through the curtain, and if what he saw spelled danger, he'd wake his sibling.

Edging up to the window, Sam felt a chill seeping through the glass. He let his little finger slip behind the curtain and pulled it back, his breath catching at what he found. Reilly stood peering back at him, his face a portrait of sadness as his mouth moved soundlessly. Sam knew what the ghost was saying even without hearing the distorted words. _Wiiiisssaaamm._

Sam stepped back, dropping the curtain as he fought to remember how to breathe. Once he had himself under control, he quickly sifted through the darkness for his things. He found his shoes and jacket and slipped them on, checking his brother and debating whether to jostle the older awake. Dean seemed so peaceful, so Sam let him be and gingerly made his way to the door on his own. It was a crazy idea, but Sam felt he and Reilly needed to talk.

Pulling the door closed but not locking it, Sam stepped into the cold midnight. At first he thought the ghost had gone, but then Reilly's outline became visible by his side. Sam stepped back, out of reflex, and their eyes locked for a moment. _Wiiisssammmmss_. Sam held up his hand, but the ghost made no move to come any closer.

"I know the accident wasn't your fault." Sam's voice was rough from hours of disuse. "But it wasn't my fault, either. You've got to understand that."

Reilly flickered, and appeared in the middle of the car park, a few feet away.

Sam stepped closer, hand still outstretched. "I think the sheriff may have had something to do with what happened. But you don't have to worry about it, because my brother and I, we can look into it and we'll find the truth. We'll work out what happened and if he's responsible, we'll make sure he pays. There's no reason for you to stick around. You don't need to be here."

But the dead man continued to stare, and whispered _Wiiisssaaammmnnnssss_ more urgently. Sam's brow creased as the ghost flickered again, moving further away.

The younger brother took a hesitant step, glancing back at the motel room door, wondering whether it was time to wake Dean. His eyes shot to Reilly, who was now shimmering by the car park entry. The dead man flickered, suddenly vanishing, and Sam's feet carried him to peer along the empty road. He almost missed Reilly passing by a street sign about forty feet away.

Sam couldn't explain why he did it, but he followed.

Reilly continued to lead Sam along the road, over a bridge above the same river that the younger had fallen into earlier that day, drifting into and out of focus until they reached a tall wire fence that encircled what Sam assumed was a garage. Sam lifted his eyes to a sign that hung precariously from a beam above the fence to his right. In red, block letters, it said WISEMANS, and Sam felt his jaw drop slightly.

He locked eyes with the ghost as pieces fell into place in his mind. Could it be possible that Reilly hadn't been blaming him, that it had been the name of this place he'd been trying to say all along? Sam felt a fool, but as Reilly flickered and appeared on the other side of the locked gate, the younger couldn't help but wonder why the ghost had brought him here and what the dead man was expecting him to do. Reilly's eyes pleaded as he peered from the yard out to the street, and Sam's curiosity, more than anything, had the younger roughly scaling the fence. He used his jacket to cover the barbed wire at the top, before dropping heavily into the well-lit yard.

Despite the bright lights, there were enough shadows for Sam to hide in. He followed Reilly past piles of tires and other random things, before arriving at a car that he immediately recognized as the dead man's. Sam paused, slightly taken aback by the sight. The mangled metal and shattered windows brought back memories he'd rather forget and he squeezed his eyes closed a moment, blocking the images that assaulted his mind. Why had Reilly wanted to show him this? He looked around and noticed the ghost inside, his face a faint orb in the front passenger seat. The younger brother stepped closer as Reilly's face disappeared, leaning in through the broken window, startled to see Reilly curled up under the dash. Sam caught a glimpse of something glinting there as the dead man pawed at the carpet.

The door wouldn't open, so Sam manoeuvred himself to lean further. It was awkward, with broken glass threatening to cut his stomach, but eventually his fumbling fingers found what they were looking for and he straightened carefully. Reilly's eyes were shattered windows of their own as Sam stared at his upturned palm, barely able to believe what rested there. Glistening in the bright lights was a diamond ring.

There was something inscribed on the inside of the band, but Sam was robbed of any time to read it as snarling met his ears and he spun to see a large dog rounding an old truck to his left, its shackles raised as it locked its sights on him. Realizing he was in very real danger of being torn apart, Sam shoved the ring into his pocket and bolted the way he'd come. He knew he'd never outrun the animal in his weakened condition, but he definitely didn't like the idea of sticking around.

Adrenalin charged his limbs as he threw himself against the wire of the gate, fingers struggling to maintain their grip as he pulled himself up. He barely registered the sound of the dog whimpering somewhere in the background, and grit his teeth against the stinging barbs as he tumbled over the top. Holding on by one hand, he flipped himself upright and dropped in a heap upon the pavement. His body would punish him later, he figured painfully, and scrambled on hands and knees until he was running into the nearest patch of shadows.

He leaned against a tree, attempting to gulp in more air than his lungs could handle. His eyes watered as he checked the street for any sign that he'd been noticed, but all was quiet and still once more. His fingers found the ring in his pocket and he searched around for Reilly. The dead man had gone, and Sam was shocked to see his hands were covered in blood as he brought the ring to the light.

Hastily he tucked it back into his pocket and wrapped his torn hands in his jacket in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Now that he'd calmed down his mind was beginning to register his hurts and he wondered how deep he'd been cut. Pain shot through his hands up to his shoulders, and his head spun, reminding him that he'd overdone it. His knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground, steadying his breathing, determined not to pass out.

The dizziness eased away gradually, and Sam was able to lift his head and pull himself up. He took some shaky steps forward and moved into the light once again, turning in the direction of the motel and hating that there was so much space between where he was and where he needed to be. Stumbling more than walking, he began to make his way along the road. He was so busy concentrating on staying upright that he didn't notice his brother running along the footpath towards him.

"Sam!"

Sam's eyes snapped up, bringing him to a halt. He swayed slightly and felt his stomach drop as Dean's expression shifted quicker than a heartbeat, skipping from concern to relief, to anger then back to concern again. His right hand flew out, connecting with the low wall of the bridge as he tried not to fall over. He winced as he noticed Dean's eyes widen at the blood covering his palms.

"Holy shit, Sam, what happened?" Big brother grabbed him by the shoulders, helping to balance some of his weight. "I woke up and you weren't there- where the hell have you been? I came out here and saw you stumbling up the road like this-" Dean's hands fumbled to keep pressure on the punctures in Sam's palms. "Are you trying to drive me to an early grave? Seriously Sammy- _God_ how the hell did you get these cuts? You're bleeding everywhere- didn't you think you'd had enough drama for one day? What in God's name possessed you come out here like this-?" A whole range of emotions blurred and burned in Dean's eyes as he ranted. Eventually the flow of words came to an abrupt stop. "Shit, Sam-" The older brother pulled his younger brother's arm over a shoulder, propping him up as Sam's legs again lost their strength. "Are you okay?"

Sam tried not to lean too hard on his brother, feeling terrible for the way he'd once again worried Dean. He was about to open his mouth to say that he would be okay, when the sound of an approaching vehicle sent both brothers' eyes to the road. Sam felt his heart rate triple as he recognized the sheriff behind the wheel of the patrol car as it pulled over.

The burly man stepped out. "Well," he said, eyeing the boys. "It seems you two have found a bit of trouble tonight."

Sam's elbow dug into Dean's side as he tried to shuffle away. Dean didn't know that the sheriff was crooked, but now it was too late to explain.

"Oh, we're alright," Dean lied, struggling to hold Sam steady. "Sammy here just has a tendency to sleep walk. We're staying at that motel there, down the road."

The sheriff nodded, stepping closer. "I know. I was coming by to see you. It seems you've saved me from driving all that way."

Sam felt his brother tense. "It's one o'clock in the morning, sir," Dean said. "What could be so urgent that you'd need to see us now?"

The sheriff shrugged, cold eyes boring into Sam. "Oh, you know. I just wanted to have a little chat with Sam here. There are a couple of things I think he and I need to sort out."

Dean instantly became protective, moving his body around Sam's. Sam felt himself being pushed to the side as Dean narrowed his eyes at the man. "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait."

The bigger man's eyes fell to the pavement, and he shook his head. "No, see, I don't think it can." In a flash he'd drawn his gun and had it levelled at Dean's chest.

Sam barely had time to register what was happening before there was a crack and the gun went off. The older brother was sent over the wall of the bridge and into the black river below, with a distant splash. Sam felt his heart stop, preventing him from reacting as the sheriff grabbed him around his waist and tackled him to the ground. Then everything went black, as the bigger man raised the hilt of his weapon and brought it down.

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_Oops, did I just do that? I think I did. Sorry Dean ;)_


	14. Chapter 14

_Okay this is a rare thing, updating three in one go, but I kind of felt bad leaving it hanging where it was. So here's chapter fourteen. I'm going home to sleep now! As much as I want to finish this, the rest will have to wait. Ta for the reviews! Appollo's Lady, your last two have cracked me up. I hope this chapter sits well with everyone. Goodnight :)_

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**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

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Dean had seen the sheriff raise the gun, but he'd not had time to do anything about it. Everything had happened so fast, and all he'd been able to think about was Sam and making sure his younger brother was out of the way. It had taken him completely by surprise when he'd been hurled backwards over the side of the bridge with the gunshot ringing in his ears. He'd felt a sting against his right leg above the knee as he'd begun to fall, and the last thing he'd seen… No, it couldn't have been possible. He'd sworn he'd seen Reilly's blurred face, before he'd been thrown backwards. The ghost had slammed into his chest.

Now, limbs frantically flailing and lungs robbed of air, Dean thrashed about in the icy water of the river, desperate not to be washed too far downstream. Had he been shot? What had happened? He was still alive, which was good. But he felt like he'd fallen ten stories and had landed on concrete; his muscles screamed and cramped, and his spine felt as though it would snap in two.

Choking on bitter mouthfuls of river water he forced himself to swim. Eventually he made it to the muddy bank, and flopped in a heap on the shore, retching and coughing, a great icy pain cracking through his skull. Yes, he was still in the land of the living. But what good would it do if something had happened to Sam? Eyes rolling in his head he got to his feet, and ordered himself to run.

Sheer desperation pushed him up the bank in the direction of the road, but once at the bridge he realized Sam and the sheriff had gone. Dean's body shook so violently his teeth nearly shattered in his mouth. He all but collapsed against the bridge wall, trying to keep his panic in check, determined to calm down. There was a pain in his right leg rising above the other aches that wracked his body, and he glanced in its direction, making note of the blood pooling around his shoe. It would have to wait, he decided, stumbling along the suddenly uneven footpath as his vision swam and swayed. He had a job to do. He had to find Sam.

When he'd woken and had realized Sam was gone he'd been beside himself with worry, and had sworn things couldn't get any worse. When he'd found Sam on the bridge, however, hands bleeding and barely standing, he'd wished he'd never tempted fate with his thoughts. Now the situation was just ridiculous and Dean wasn't sure how much more he could handle. He arrived back at the motel room, mind reeling, gagging on bile that threatened to rise from his burbling stomach. He stripped off his frozen clothes and discarded them as he stumbled towards the bathroom. He headed for the first aid box, looking for something to keep him going. He figured a couple of pills and a rough bandage around his leg would do, and he located both, before tripping back into the room like a drunk, searching for some clean clothes.

How strangely things had turned. Dean almost laughed at the ring of salt around Sam's bed. He'd been worried about a ghost but now it turned out their biggest problem was a man. Who would have thought? He hadn't seen that one coming at all. He could barely think straight, and the situation was a million miles from being good. _Oh God_, the thought, _Oh God oh God oh God- _Suddenly, there was a frantic knock upon the door and Dean's head snapped around, wondering who it was.

He snatched up the biggest gun from their weapons bag and crept along the wall. He held his breath and with frightening speed, yanked the door open and grabbed the startled doctor by the shirt, pulling him into the room. Dean plastered him against the back of the door and held the gun under his chin for several seconds, before realizing who it was. The man looked as though he might die on the spot.

"What are you doing here?" Dean angrily lowered his weapon, heart pounding against his ribs.

"I- ah-" The doctor's words were stuttered as he wiped his shaking hands across his trousers, wide eyes darting this way and that. "I came to tell you that I think Sam's in danger-" His gaze fell upon the younger brother's empty bed.

Dean noticed the man putting two and two together and confirmed the doctor's fears. "You're too late," he stated bluntly, and turned to load another gun. He stopped short as the doctor's words sank in, spinning him back around. "Wait- Just how did you know that?"

The doctor backed away slightly, holding up his hands.

Dean let him know he had five seconds to answer, or there'd be a gun against his head.

The man then swallowed roughly. "My friend Ed told me." The colour had drained from his face.

Dean needed more information and demanded it.

"He, ah, works at the morgue," the doctor quickly said.

Dean furiously scraped at the puzzle pieces. "Does he know where Sam could be now?"

This was beyond the doctor's understanding. "I, well- he just told me the sheriff was up to no good."

"_Does he know where Sam could be now?_"

"I don't know! No! Please, Mister Richards, put the gun down-"

There was an anxious silence, before the doctor continued. "Please, I came here to help you, I'm not looking for a fight."

Dean hesitated a moment, before lowering his weapon. Exhausted, he stumbled to his bed and took a seat.

The doctor's eyes fell across the array of weapons Dean had spread around him, and the broken circle of salt marking the floor. If the medic was curious, he didn't show it.

Dean's leg was throbbing and he was still freezing cold.

Startling them both, the doctor's cell phone burst to life.

The man looked to Dean for approval before pulling it from his pocket.

"For fuck's sake, you're not my hostage." The older brother was too busy sorting the mess in his head.

The doctor flipped it open as Dean massaged his temples. "Hello?" The medic said, biting his lip. "Hello…?"

He stared at the screen a moment before snapping it closed. "Okay, that was strange."

Dean regarded the man, who was regarding his phone.

It began to ring again, and the medic's frown deepened.

He held it to his ear again. "Hello?" He shrugged. "It says it's Ed calling, but he must've forgotten to lock his keypad or something- Hello?"

Dean was on his feet. "Give me that."

The doctor complied and Dean listened to the silence on the other end. _No, not silence_. He distinctly heard Sam's voice, and then the unmistakable rumble of the sheriff. He was grabbing his guns and heading for the door before the doctor had a chance to ask what was going on.

"Where did you say Ed worked again?" Dean asked.

The doctor followed Dean outside, not comprehending. "At the morgue. Why?"

Dean didn't have time to explain. "Get in the car. We need to get there. Now."

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_See, I do love Dean. Nothing to panic about! Sam, on the other hand... ;)_


	15. Chapter 15

_I feel like I should put a bit of a warning on this chapter, because it contains slightly more mature things. Thanks again for reading this! Only another four-ish chapters to go I think. I'm slowly getting there :)_

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**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Sam was hypnotized by the blood pooling around Ed's head. It spread like ink across the tiled floor as the coroner lay, ungracefully sprawled upon his back. The sheriff lowered his weapon and kicked the newly deceased man's foot out of the way as he moved to the bench to take over where Ed had left off, writing Sam's future autopsy report. Sam watched as the big man furiously scribbled across two pages of notes, sweat beading upon his forehead as the pen scratched and scraped. Once finished, the man lifted a syringe that was resting beside the paper, glancing towards the barely conscious hunter, eyes flickering. Sam wasn't sure what the sheriff was planning, but he held no doubts that it wouldn't be good.

Time had stopped for the youngest Winchester the moment he'd seen Dean fall from the bridge. His older sibling had been blasted from his side and the sound of the gun had continued to ring in Sam's ears as the sheriff had tackled him to the ground. He'd been thrown at light speed into a place of weightlessness, where he'd been mercifully numb and had hoped never to wake. Unfortunately, however, fate had had other plans, and his eyes had snapped open to reveal he was strapped to a chair in a dark corner of the morgue. His sight had focused on the coroner, trembling at a nearby bench. His ears had registered the sound of the sheriff's orders as the big man had told the small man what to write. And then Ed had made the mistake of arguing, refusing to write any more, and the sheriff had whipped out his gun, taking aim and firing once. Ed's lifeless body had crumpled like a rag doll upon the floor, and there'd been nothing Sam could do to stop it.

Sam tore his eyes from the crimson pool, unable to pinpoint his greatest pain. He could only guess that it came from somewhere deep within him, because his soul felt as though it had been maimed, ashes to the fire that burned within him, screaming to be set free. He wanted to hurt this man. He wanted to hurt him more than he'd wanted to hurt anything before. He tried, but could barely shift his stinging eyes or focus his stare, and the sheriff, catching sight of his efforts, flashed a brief but wicked grin. Sam mustered a fistful of strength and found the breath to ask what the sheriff was planning to do with him.

The man turned back to the syringe and whatever he was preparing. "I'm doing what I need to do, to make sure certain things remain silent."

"You killed Reilly, didn't you," Sam stated, throat working painfully.

But the big man brushed the words like dust from his coat, and offered no reply.

Sam noticed a flame dance to life and lick the underside of a spoon. The sheriff held his hands where Sam could see them, and again his mouth twitched into a sickening grin like a meat hook. "Heroin," he said, feigning disgust, "is such a terrible thing."

Sam twisted his wrists desperately against his bonds.

"It won't be hard to make the people in these towns think you killed yourself this way. After all, you killed your brother. And Ed here, well, what can I say? He was an unlucky bystander. I'll find a story for him that fits."

"You're insane," Sam choked.

The sheriff shrugged. "Maybe. But I'll get away with it. That's one of the perks to being The Law in places like this. Everyone's so wrapped up in their pointless, shallow lives to argue. What I say goes. No one's game to question that. You're a stranger, no one knows your history. I can tell them what I like. You're bad news in towns like these, and I"ll make sure the people are glad you died."

The flame licked the spoon until the cupped liquid bubbled. Sam was so busy watching that he failed to notice Reilly appear beside Ed's corpse, ghostly hands blurring over a phone that had slid from Ed's pocket. The sheriff took the syringe and drew the liquid through the tip, and then he stood for a while, re-reading what he'd written over the sheets of paper and seeming to consider things. Sam's mind screamed at him to do something, but he couldn't think of what. All he could do was try to buy time, but if no one was coming, what good were a few extra minutes? This was a one-way street, he realized, and he'd reached the end of it. There were no escape hatches, no holes in the backdrop, no way to get out. He closed his eyes and dropped his head to his chest.

After a minute or two the man spoke, his voice an irritation to Sam's ears. "You remind me of him, you know. The way you think you're big, but you're not. The way you try to trick me."

Sam groaned inwardly, hearing but not processing the man's words. "What the hell are you talking about?" A cough rattled his upper body, sending pain through his skull.

The sheriff placed the needle on the bench and leaned so that he was facing Sam. His arms folded over his chest as he regarded the younger man strapped in the chair, watching Sam's brow gather as short breaths shot into and out of the hunter's tired lungs. Sam's eyes lifted until they were level with his. "You remind me of Reilly," the big man said. "He was always trying to outsmart me."

Sam's vision dimmed then, like lights fading, but came back up as he drew on his remaining strength. A movement to his left begged his attention and he turned his eyes, without turning his head, to finally notice Reilly standing over the coroner. The ghost was regarding the sheriff, a completely unreadable expression painted across his face. The big man was obviously unaware of the third presence in the room, and continued on, unfazed. Sam wondered what Reilly was doing there.

"He didn't deserve what he had," the sheriff stated. "He didn't work, like I worked. Stuff just came to him, _people_ came to him. Everyone thought he was great, but I knew the truth."

Sam watched the ghost watching the sheriff.

The sheriff nodded, convincing only himself. "He was _nothing_. But he thought he was _so smart_. He made people believe he was the Golden Boy, and he talked about stuff like starting his own business, building a house, like it was all so fucking simple. He lived in a _dream world_. He never even considered the rest of us, never even considered _me_. I was nobody compared to him. Well… It's his turn to be forgotten now. All proud men crumble in the end. They crumble and they turn to dust. I'll see that he crumbles. We were fighting a war, and I won." A manic laugh escaped his lips. "He lost. But _I won_."

Sam's insides screwed up. "You're insane." His head was spinning and he felt as though he would pass out again. Sheer desperation made him hold on. He knew that the moment he lost consciousness all hope would be gone. _Hope_. Sam almost cried at the thought. As far as he knew, his older brother was dead. No one would come for him. His brother was gone. _Oh God- _his best friend was gone, and nothing would bring him back. "So you killed him because you were jealous." Sam didn't know why he said it, but he wanted to keep the man talking. The longer they talked, the longer he breathed. Wasn't that the sensible thing to do?

But the sheriff slammed his fist upon the counter. "I was _not _jealous." His nostrils flared in anger. "I just wanted to put him in his place. I wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted to show him I had some brains after all."

Sam couldn't help snorting. "Yeah, you're real smart…"

The back of the sheriff's hand left a red mark across Sam's cheek. The younger man was left reeling from the impact, hurriedly gathering himself again. Perhaps riling the sheriff up wasn't the best idea, he thought, gritting his teeth, but damn it felt good to piss him off because in all honesty, Sam had trouble believing he had anything left worth fighting for. He was tempted to be reckless. Dean was always reckless, he recalled, with a sudden ache. His older brother had such a gift for rubbing people (and non-people) up the wrong way. Glaring through puffy eyes at the big man, Sam felt his need to cause damage flare up again. If he wasn't strapped so tightly in the chair, he would rip into the sheriff with all he had.

The sheriff watched, amused, as Sam once again attempted to escape from his bonds. Eventually Sam stopped struggling, and the sheriff waved a hand, inviting him to go on. "Please," he smiled, "Don't let exhaustion stop you. I enjoy watching you struggle. You're like a rat in a cage."

Sam glared, though his heart threatened to burst from his chest and his whole body screamed. "I'm not the rat in this story," he hissed.

The sheriff shrugged, chuckling. "Whatever you say." He turned to face the bench again and lifted the syringe.

Sam's palms began to sweat at the sight of the needle. This was it. He was all out of plans.

The sheriff took off his belt and approached the young man in the chair. Sam's struggles were weak and lacked energy, and the sheriff easily wrapped the leather around Sam's upper arm, fastening it tight. The light was bad, but the blue lines of veins rose to the surface, visible just under the skin. Sam felt himself hyperventilating, and desperately ordered himself to calm down. A racing heart would pump his blood faster. He wanted his heart to slow down.

The sheriff paused, syringe in hand. "Tell me something, Sam. Have you ever been in love?"

The question caught Sam off guard. "W-What?" His voice wouldn't work, and all he could think about was his impending death.

But the sheriff seemed to enjoy drawing the moment out. "In love," he repeated. "You know, when you meet someone and fall head over heels for them. Have you ever felt that way about anyone?"

Sam didn't reply. He couldn't.

The sheriff went on. "I have. Her name was Anna, and from the moment I saw her I was determined to make her mine." His fists clenched. "But then she met Reilly and they fell in love. That smartass kid _stole_ her from me, just like he stole everything else. He was going to ask her to marry him, you know."

Sam's erratic breathing slowed as he noticed the ghost appear beside the sheriff. The big man was grinding his teeth in rage, and Sam's brain slowly digested what he'd heard.

"I couldn't let that happen," the sheriff declared. "I couldn't let him take her away like that. He didn't _deserve_ her. He didn't _love_ her. Not like I did. At least now I'll have the chance to make her see that she picked the wrong man. She's like a trophy at the end of the game, and I've fought for her, I've fought for her and won." He chuckled to himself. "Reilly always thought he was the best, but now I've shown him, and I've _won_." His smile broadened. "I've won."

Two things happened then. Reilly launched himself in the sheriff's direction, ghostly arms flailing, and there was a crash from somewhere out the front of the building. The sheriff's eyes snapped up to stare towards the door as Reilly's body passed straight through him. Reilly disappeared somewhere over the other side of the room, carried away by his own momentum. And the sheriff's face hardened to grey stone as he realized someone was outside.

In an instant his gaze had locked with Sam's, and his strong hand was over Sam's mouth. "You think you can trick me," the man hissed maniacally, bending Sam's head back until the younger thought his neck would snap. "You think you can outsmart me, getting me to talk until someone comes to help. Is that what you thought? _Sam_? Well if you thought that, you were wrong."

Sam struggled wildly as the man positioned the needle above his vein. "No-" He tried to cry, but the big man's hand muffled the sound and his pleas were lost.

"You can't trick me, because I know the way you work."

Sam felt the needle enter his vein, and Reilly appeared once more, a blur in the corner.

The sheriff's breath was hot and rancid against Sam's ear as the man leaned in close, determined to have the final say. "You're just like him," he whispered. "You're just like Reilly." Roughly he pushed the contents of the syringe into Sam's bloodstream, watching as the light in Sam's eyes flared in a rush, before beginning to fade.

There was a heartbeat of silence, and Sam's struggling body slowed and then stilled.

The sheriff's words were icy as he ripped the needle free, wiping it of prints and tossing it to the bench."You think you can outsmart me," he repeated, quickly loosening the belt around Sam's arm. "You think you know me, but you're wrong. Just like he was, you're wrong." He took a knife and started cutting Sam's bonds.

"You're wrong, and you're predictable. All little brothers are the same."


	16. Chapter 16

_Okay my pretties, I'm leaving you here. Chapter sixteen is where this will pause until I get the last three chapters written so I can post them at the same time. I honestly never thought I'd get this far so a BIG thankyou to everyone who's reviewed and kept me going. I hope this chapter goes down okay. (And before you jump to conclusions, I just want to say _don't panic. _I love Sam, I've told you that) Happy reading :)_

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**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

The doctor regretted letting Dean drive his car. Not that he'd had much of a choice, as the older brother had ripped the keys from his hand and had taken the driver's seat, steering them in a blur of fury from one town to the next. The medic's grip had been white-knuckled against the dash as they'd completed the journey in less than three minutes, tearing into the car park of the morgue and skidding to a clumsy halt upon the curb outside the front doors. They'd noticed the sheriff's car nearby and Dean had quickly grabbed his weapon, throwing a spare gun to the doctor, tumbling from the car to find a way into the building. The doctor's stomach had churned and lurched from the trip, stealing his breath. Once he'd learned to speak again, he'd reached a hand to Dean's shoulder, spinning the young man around.

"_What_-?" Dean had glared, pausing in his attempt to break down the door.

The doctor's palm had opened, shaking slightly. "You don't need to destroy it. I have a key."

He'd handed it over, and Dean had blinked. "Well, why the hell didn't you say something?"

Now, pushing open the door, both men slipped into the dark, empty hall. Dean could tell the doctor wasn't comfortable holding a weapon, so he offered the medic a way out. "You can wait here if you like, call for help if something goes wrong."

But the doctor shook his head. "No. My friend's in here, the one who called me, I've got to make sure he's okay."

Dean nodded, understandingly. He was equally as determined to find Sam. "We go together then. Stay behind me." With military efficiency, he began to lead the man.

The doctor's breaths were short and sharp as he all but trod upon Dean's heels.

Dean slowed by a door that hung slightly ajar, indicating the doctor should wait while he looked inside. Dean's well-trained mind was being pushed to its limit, and he was struggling to keep his anxiety down in order to think rationally. He took a deep breath and slipped into the room, checking for occupants and immediately noticing the thick stench of copper in the air. A man's body lay sprawled out upon the floor. Dean panicked, gasping, thinking it was Sam.

But it wasn't Sam. It was Ed. And the doctor, having heard Dean's sharp intake of breath, rushed into the room and dropped beside his fallen friend.

"I thought I told you to wait-" Dean said, annoyed, though his anger couldn't last as the man raised a hand to cover his grief at their discovery.

The medic checked for a pulse, but the coroner was gone. The doctor's eyes were wide and frightened as he lifted his face to stare at Dean. "The sheriff did this?" There was venom in his words.

Dean didn't know what to say, so he nodded stiffly. "I think so, yes. I'm sorry."

Turning on his heel, bile kissed at his throat. Dean's vision began to blacken from the edges as he considered what Ed's death could mean. If they were too late for the coroner, they might be too late for Sam. A quick scan of the room revealed the chair Sam had been tied to and Dean's breath caught in his throat as he noticed the broken restraints.

Barely breathing, the older brother lurched towards it, reaching out a hand. The seat was still warm. _My God_ _the seat was still warm_. Someone had sat there recently. Had that someone been Sam?

A closer inspection of the room revealed the discarded needle on the bench. A pile of papers rested beside it, and Dean scanned them, feeling increasingly sick. _No- _he thought, staring at paragraphs that detailed how Sam had died. _No-no-no-no-no- not happening-_ He let his eyes stop at the bit regarding Sam's time of death. "What time is it?" He whispered.

The doctor looked up, before fumbling with his watch. "One forty-seven. Why?"

Dean was already moving. Sam's time of death had been approximately one forty-nine. The document was a fake. They still had some time.

Finger against the trigger, Dean and his gun began to run. They disappeared through the door and into the hall, with the doctor's startled questions following them out. Quiet time was over, and Dean raised his voice as loud as he could. He demanded to know where his brother was, and for the sheriff to show himself.

"You coward!" He called into the darkness, growing impatient and kicking a door. "I know you're still in here! You come out and tell me where my brother is! If you've hurt him- if you've touched him- so help me God- if he's dead-"

A sound to Dean's left grabbed his attention, and a laugh rumbled as a fist collided with his head.

Dean took the blow, rolling, and sprang up to face the hulking man. The gun was smashed from his grip and clattered noisily to the ground.

The sheriff regarded the hunter with a smirk. "You're still alive, I see."

Dean glared back. "It takes a lot to keep me down. Where's my brother?"

"He's sleeping."

"_Where's Sam?_"

Dean's hand shot out and the two men wrestled until the hunter's fingers dug deep against the sheriff's throat, blocking his airway.

"Tell me," Dean demanded, pinning the big man to the wall.

The sheriff choked.

"_Where_ _is he_?" Dean's fingers dug deeper.

"I s-sent him-" The sheriff's voice was broken as he fought to breathe. "To see Reilly- I thought that- our two brothers should have the chance to meet-"

Dean's heart stopped.

The sheriff's face cracked into a toothy grin.

_No_. Dean roughly shoved the man, fingers withdrawing into a fist. He wanted to wipe that grin off the sick fuck's face. "_You take me to him-_"

The sheriff's eyes flashed in defiance. "_No_."

Dean's knuckles cracked across the man's jaw, but the sheriff's foot lashed out, catching Dean behind the knees and sending him to the floor. Dean rolled to the side right before a steel capped boot came down on his face. Gathering his balance he charged the man's torso, and in a great clattering mess they burst through a door and into an office.

"You wont find Sam like this," the sheriff said, deflecting each of Dean's blows.

Dean snatched and grabbed at things he found on a desk, fingers curling around a letter opener. The dim light reflected off the small blade. "Oh really?"

The blade caught and ripped the sheriff's shirt, but unfortunately missed the skin.

The big man growled, swinging a fist, missing Dean but catching a stack of files and sending them crashing to the ground instead.

"Why don't you just tell me where he is," Dean panted. "And we can let this whole thing go."

"Not going to happen." The sheriff found a book and hurled it at Dean's head.

Dean ducked at the last moment, scurrying behind the desk and opening drawers, searching for something that would do more damage than the blunt letter opener still held in his grip. He was desperate to win this fight before Sam's time ran out, if it wasn't out already.

Growing tired of searching Dean yanked a drawer free of the desk. Relieving it of its contents, he hurled the large object in the sheriff's direction. It clipped the man's cheek, drawing blood, before shattering against a wall.

The man's rage increased, and he narrowed his eyes and charged, grabbing the hunter and driving him against a metal cabinet.

Dean struggled to regain the upper hand as the sheriff grabbed a fist full of his hair and began to repeatedly snap his head back against the hard surface. His teeth crashed together, and by the fourth blow he was seeing stars.

"This time, you stay dead." The sheriff's words were distant in Dean's ears.

Dean was on the verge of losing consciousness, when a single gunshot rang out.

The sound brought him quickly to his senses, and he opened his eyes to see blood covering his chest. It was splattered over the ground and the light was on. The doctor stood, shaking in the doorway, and Dean's hands flew to check himself for injury but he was still in one piece.

The sheriff lay sprawled upon his side, in a pool of red upon the floor.

"I'm sorry," The doctor stammered, appalled by what he'd done, dropping his weapon.

Dean didn't have time to console the man, nor ask how his aim had been so good.

Stumbling, the older brother got to his feet, crashing across the wrecked room towards the door. "We have to find Sam," he gasped, recalling the sheriff's ominous words. His brother was _sleeping_. There was no way that could be good. _Hold on Sammy, _he thought._ I'm coming_. He skidded out into the hall and took off at a run.

Rounding a corner he stopped short. Reilly stood like a beacon, hovering outside one of the rooms.

Dean went for his gun, out of reflex. His breath hitched as he remembered it wasn't there. He caught sight of something in the ghost's expression that begged his trust. Reilly disappeared.

Dean took a few steps, hesitantly, before covering the remaining distance at a run. The door Reilly had been standing beside was unlocked, and he roughly pushed it open.

The room was full of fridges, and Dean turned on the light to see many doors. Reilly appeared by one of them, and Dean rushed forward, an icy knife twisting in his gut. His heart was in his throat as he pulled at the handle, almost too scared to look. He slid the body into the light and saw his brother; Sam's lips were blue, his eyes pinched shut.

It was too late, Dean realized despairingly. He was too late and his little brother had already died.

When the doctor entered the room a moment later, it was to Dean's frantic screams. The older brother held his sibling's nose, breathing into Sam's lungs, calling for someone, _anyone_, to do something. The doctor called for help, but it was obvious Sam had gone. Dean continued fighting and hoping, long after most men would have given up.

Surely Sam was only sleeping.


	17. Chapter 17

_I changed my mind- I always change my mind- I'll post these as I do them because I really don't know that I'll get them done very quickly- life's got slightly crazy and I have to go overseas- hopefully I'll get this finished in time- Thanks again for reading this, and for your comments- you guys are great :) Hopefully in my rush these last three chapters wont be full of holes- fingers crossed they'll make sense- Ta x_

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**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

"Hi Sam."

Sam turned to face the voice. He was in a room full of fridges, and Reilly was standing behind him. Vaguely he recalled he'd been in the morgue. Were they still in the morgue? His memory eluded him. He couldn't quite piece together the events that had led up to now.

Reilly stepped closer. There was something different about the ghost. Sam noticed, for the first time, that Reilly's eyes were blue, and that his face was quite young behind the mess of blood and cuts.

The dead man smiled sadly. "It's nice to finally meet you, though I wish the circumstances could be different."

Sam felt a chill ripple up his spine. "Am I dead?" Surely that was the only way they could be having this conversation.

But Reilly moved to lean against a table, shaking his head. "Not quite."

Sam let his eyes wander around the room, trying to understand how he'd got there. "What happened?" He asked, anxiety building.

Reilly didn't seem to hear him. The ghost's eyes were focused on a distant place and his head was bowed to stare at the floor. "I'm really sorry, Sam," he breathed, his tone one of genuine regret. "I want you to know that if I could change things, I definitely would. I'd change them so you weren't so caught up in this mess. You shouldn't have to pay for what went wrong between my brother and me. It's not fair..."

Sam's eyes stopped their wandering to settle on the man slumped against the table. He hadn't realized the sheriff and Reilly had been brothers. The thought made him sick.

Reilly offered a slight smile, but it was broken. The tightness around his mouth and eyes betrayed the sheer volume of grief his soul was housing. "Would you believe," he said, "when we were growing up, he was my closest friend?"

Sam's thoughts were tugged to settle on his memories of Dean and the relationship they'd managed to carry through their years together. The sheriff had killed Dean... That also made Sam sick.

"We grew apart." Reilly's eyes were glassy. "He became bitter, I think, because I wasn't scared to have dreams."

Sam moved to stand before the ghost, trembling slightly.

"I didn't want him to be bitter. I never imagined it would come to this."

"None of this is your fault, Reilly." Sam's words were strained, though he was attempting to hold back his grief. He had to remind himself that though the sheriff and Reilly had been related, the two men were nothing alike.

Reilly shook his head, disagreeing. "Yes, it is. The accident is. I didn't realize I had no brakes until I needed to stop. I was busy looking at the ring, you see, and I dropped it on the floor so I took my seatbelt off and tried to reach it...I didn't see the red light until it was too late because I wasn't paying attention."

Sam pulled the ring from his pocket. He'd completely forgotten it was there.

Reilly sat, regarding it gravely, and took it in his hand. "I was going to ask my girlfriend to marry me, you know." His gaze was a silhouette of regret. "I wish I could have told her how much I loved her. Why do we never say what we mean to say, when we have the chance?"

Sam swallowed roughly.

Reilly's fingers curled around the ring. "It's okay. Don't answer that. It's a stupid question."

Sam cleared his throat. "I'm sure she knows."

Reilly paused a moment then whispered uncertainly, "I hope so. But she probably thinks I'm a fool, because apparently I was supposed to have been drinking and that's why I went through the light. I wasn't though, I swear. I really wish I could tell her that."

Sam was reluctant, but needed to ask. "Do you think your brother had something to do with the brakes failing in your car?"

Reilly nodded sadly. "I think so."

"Is that why you're hanging around, then, to uncover the truth?"

The ghost gave a half-hearted smile. "No, the truth hardly matters to me now. Besides, my brother's dead."

Sam was shocked. "He is? How? I mean… I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Reilly almost laughed, though his eyes remained sad. "Your brother and your doctor from the hospital, they had a hand in things."

Sam's heart stumbled. "Dean's alive?"

"Yes."

Now he felt sick with hope. "Really-?"

Reilly nodded.

Sam couldn't believe it.

"You have an awesome brother, Sam."

Tears were stinging Sam's eyes. He laughed. "Yeah, I know. He keeps reminding me." Dean was _alive_. Sam didn't know how it was possible, but his sibling had cheated death again.

Reilly smiled painfully. "He obviously cares about you, a lot."

Sam wiped a sleeve over his face. "Yeah... He does."_ And I care about him_…

A heavy silence settled between them, and Reilly's eyes became distant once more.

Sam regarded the ghost, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "You don't have to be here, you know," he said compassionately. "You could move on, go someplace better."

A slither of something not quite a frown broke across Reilly's features. "I know." His gaze met Sam's before dropping to the ring still resting in his palm. He squeezed it tight. "I'm just… not quite ready yet."

Sam felt the weight of the dead man's confession resonate within him. A great sadness settled in his stomach. "But you don't belong here, Reilly, you have to realize that."

Reilly sighed, nodding slowly. "And you don't belong here either, Sam." He got to his feet and regarded the young hunter. His eyes were gentle. "You need to realize that."

Sam's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to say something, but before he could respond the room began to change. It became lighter, and Reilly became darker. Suddenly the ghost was fading away.

"Wait-" Sam heard himself cry out. But Reilly had gone and familiar voices were beginning to filter through the iridescence. Sam eyes darted about as he attempted to pin point where they were. _Dean_? He could hear his brother, but couldn't see him. Things were beginning to spin and blur.

There was a great crash and the floor vanished, and Sam felt himself torn from his feet. He was sucked with frightening speed through a vacuum and thrown back into reality, back into his body. His eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, and his heart fought to pick up the beat it had lost.

_"Sammy- Sam-" _He could hear his big brother calling. _"Don't you let go- you stay with me- you breathe-!"_

But Sam was sucked beneath the surface again, frantic and drowning.

Dean's voice was a life raft just out of reach.


	18. Chapter 18

_Sorry for the delay! I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel now, only one (or possibly two...) more chaps to go. Thanks heaps and heaps and lots for the great comments. Happy reading :) Here's number eighteen._

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**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

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Dean watched as a score of emotions rippled across his sleeping brother's face. It was the nth time Sam had stirred without waking, and Dean was growing tired. He'd been seated beside Sam's bed, on and off, for three days now. Sam had woken briefly a couple of times, but it had never been for long.

Sunlight tumbled in through the window and sprawled ungracefully upon the floor. It had stopped raining the day after their little adventure in the morgue, which was probably symbolic, but Dean didn't spend too long thinking about it. Searching for deeper meaning in meaningless things was Sam's talent, not his. And right now Sam was sleeping.

"You'd better wake up soon, buddy. I'm sick to death of talking to myself."

But either Sam wasn't listening, or he was choosing to block his brother out.

"I bet you can hear me." Dean leaned forward, hopeful.

Sam gave no sign that he had.

Older brother sighed and dropped back in his wheelchair.

Dean had replayed the events in the morgue a thousand times, and each time they'd become more disturbing. Pulling his brother's lifeless body from the fridge was not an experience he was itching to repeat, _ever_, and hearing the doctor's defeated words telling him that Sam had gone was something he still refused to believe even as it echoed in his mind as a memory, no longer valid.

How Sam had cheated death, no one was sure. All Dean knew was that he'd felt Sam's body tense and had heard the choking in his little brother's throat, and that was when the real battle had begun. He'd held tight to Sam's hand then, even as help had arrived. The medics had bustled Sam away yelling things about an overdose, but Dean hadn't listened, too concerned with keeping his sibling alive. He'd demanded, every second heartbeat, to know that Sam would be okay as they'd rushed him to the E.R.

For an immeasurable amount of time Dean had waited in the emergency department. The doctor had been ordered to stand down, but Dean had noted- with a considerable degree of respect- that the man had refused, stating that Sam was his patient and that he'd not leave until he was certain the younger man would be okay. Dean had lingered; pacing, agonizing, barely holding it together as he'd waited for any news. When someone had approached him, however, and had informed him that his brother would be okay, his body had been overwhelmed with relief, and suddenly all the adrenalin that had kept him going evaporated in a great rush, leaving him exhausted and light-headed. His last memory of that moment was groping for a hand hold as he'd face-planted the floor.

He'd woken, hours later, in a room, in a bed. The doctor had come in to see him and had explained that, due to a considerable amount of blood loss, he'd lost consciousness and they'd been required to admit him. "When did you plan on telling someone you'd been shot in the leg?"

"It wasn't important," Dean had pulled himself into a sitting position and had prepared to exit his bed. "I was a little preoccupied. Where's Sam? I want to see my brother. I'm fine now, I can walk."

"Mister Richards, please-"

Dean had barely moved an inch before a wave of vertigo assaulted him.

The doctor's steadying hand had found his shoulder then. "I'll take you to him, but first let me get you a chair."

Dean hadn't liked it, but had been forced to accede.

A nurse had wheeled him to Sam's room, where he'd taken up his position by Sam's bed, and he'd sat for several hours that first day just waiting for his brother to wake. The doctor had explained Sam's condition, but the details had slipped through Dean's mind like sand. Dean's only concern was that the younger would be okay, he didn't care how or why, he just wanted his brother back. Sam had woken very briefly, but his consciousness had revealed only a shadow of the person Dean knew and loved.

An investigation was underway, and the older brother had already been questioned. The man and lady doing the investigating reminded Dean of Mulder and Scully, and he didn't like them one bit. The doctor had been interrogated, and had been 'required' to take leave from work. He'd still come in, every day, however, to check up on Sam and to make sure Dean was okay. Dean appreciated the medic's efforts, and the way the doctor shared what he knew about the case. Apparently Dirk at the garage had spoken up about being blackmailed, as the sheriff had supposedly given him money to keep quiet about Reilly's car having faulty brakes.

"I don't know whether he'll be charged or not," the doctor had admitted as he'd stood beside the older brother in Sam's room. "I have a feeling Ed was in the same boat. He was also possibly threatened, or blackmailed. He hinted it to me the other night when we spoke, when he warned me the sheriff might be after Sam. I've told the police all I know. They'll want to talk to Sam when he's up to it, you do realize."

Dean had nodded. He'd realized. He'd also decided that as soon as they could, they'd be getting out of these towns. He needed to call Bobby, needed to see how soon their friend could get here. Dean didn't like to admit it, but he knew the only things preventing him from calling the older hunter were pride and the fact that he still wasn't quite sure what to say.

"You boys might be better off disappearing, if you know what I mean." The weight in the doctor's gaze had startled Dean at the time.

Dean had feigned innocence, offering a questioning glance.

But the doctor had simply nodded knowingly, and had moved to leave the room. "I don't know all there is to know about you, Mister Richards, but I know enough to know you need to leave this place." He'd paused in the doorway. "Your medical knowledge, your weapons skills-" His eyes had narrowed. "There's more to you than meets the eye." He'd reached into his pocket then, pulling out a key.

Dean had caught it single handed.

"There's a locker room." The doctor's voice had dropped. "It's on the left, just before the cafeteria. You'll want to visit there before you check out. I took it upon myself to go to your motel room and collect your things."

Dean's mouth had dropped open, surprised.

"It's okay." The doctor had waved a hand. "You can thank me later."

That was yesterday. Dean hadn't seen the man since.

Now, with sunlight splashing warmth around the room, Dean leaned forward and attempted to rub the creases from his brow. There were a thousand troubled thoughts spinning around his head, at war with one another, fighting for control. They were painful and they made him nervous, shooting aches throughout his body and skewing his vision. The doctor was right. He and Sam needed get out of here. Through bleary eyes he regarded his sleeping brother once again.

Only Sam wasn't sleeping this time. Sam was awake.

"What's wrong…?" Little brother's voice was a whisper, hoarse and scratchy, his throat obviously dry.

Dean automatically reached for a glass of water. "Hey, how you feeling? God, I've been going nuts out here. You alright?" _Damn it's good to see your eyes open._ "Here, drink this. They told me if you woke I should get you to have more water."

Sam's eyes settled upon Dean's wheelchair. Dean had been sitting in it each time Sam had woken so far, but this time Sam seemed to register what it was. A tide of concern washed over the younger man's pale face.

"What?" Dean's eyes followed his brother's gaze. "Oh, this-?" His hands tapped the arm rests. "It's nothing. It's just because I'm too lazy to walk. It's nothing serious."

But Sam's concern only grew, sinking deep grooves across his brow.

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean insisted firmly, not wanting to trouble his already troubled brother.

"No…" Sam's expression was unwavering. "Tell me…"

Dean laughed nervously. "Tell you what? It's no big deal. Here-" Again he held out the water.

Sam turned his head away, refusing the offer. "No, Dean…" His voice cracked and he blinked rapidly, but whether from pain or confusion, Dean couldn't tell. "Tell me what happened…" His eyes met Dean's again. "… Are you okay?"

The glass was replaced on the table. "Am I okay?" Dean's tone was gentle, though he couldn't disguise the hint of incredulity that laced his words. He took a deep breath. "I'm fine, Sam. It's you I've been worried about."

Sam's eyes were puffy and glassy. "…Thought…" He swallowed convulsively. "…You know, I thought you were dead…"

Dean's lips formed a thin line. "Yeah, well… I'm not."

"He shot you." Sam's brokenness tore at Dean's insides. "…I saw you fall…"

Dean closed his eyes a moment, gathering the part of himself that was threatening to unravel. When he opened them Sam was staring groggily at him, silently begging for an explanation.

"He missed. He only grazed my leg." It was a lie.

Sam saw through his sibling's well-worn mask. "No… If it was only a graze… you wouldn't be in a chair…"

Dean shook his head. "You can be so infuriatingly observant sometimes, Sammy."

Sam's expression still held its heavy load of emotions. "… It's Sam…"

Dean almost laughed.

Little brother winced and tried to move his hand, but it was tangled in tubes. "I met him, you know… I met Reilly… We talked…"

Dean remembered the sheriff's words when he'd demanded to be told where Sam was. _I sent him to see Reilly, I thought that our two brothers should have the chance to meet_. Involuntarily he shuddered.

"He told me-" Sam continued, "- that the sheriff was his brother…"

Dean's stomach clenched, though it wasn't new information.

"It made me think…" Sam trailed off, and Dean couldn't ignore the trace of moisture slipping down his younger brother's blotchy cheek.

Oh God, older brother didn't want to have this conversation. Already alarm bells were ringing. He needed to change the subject, and change it fast. This was dangerous territory. He needed to steer Sam away from this. "Sammy-"

But Sam jerked his head. "No… I want you to know-"

Dean tried once more. "Can't we talk about this later? You've just woken up. This is the first conversation we've had in God knows how long-" _And I've missed you_. He couldn't bring himself to say it; four simple words, but they were impossible to push past his lips. He went on. "You've been through a lot. Can't we just talk about the weather or something? Look. It's sunny-" He gestured to the window.

Sam's eyes shifted slightly, but Dean's efforts went unrewarded as another tear tumbled to the pillow.

Big brother was at a loss.

Sam shook his head, again trying to bring his hand up, possibly to wipe his cheeks.

Twenty-odd years ago Dean would have leaned forward to erase them himself but now the gesture seemed too awkward and there was nothing he could do but sit, wishing he had something better to say. "Sam…?" He whispered uncertainly.

Sam's eyes were swimming now, lost in their own pools, drowning.

Dean's hand rose, hesitated, found its way to his brother's. Despite the alarm bells ringing in his mind he bit the bullet and found himself saying, "What is it?" His finger's curled stiffly with clumsy affection. "Sorry, we can talk about what happened, if you like." He didn't want to believe his brother had really gone to meet Reilly, but for argument's sake, he'd play along.

Dean wasn't expecting what Sam whispered next.

"I want you to know…" Little brother's words were barely audible.

There was a heartbeat of silence before Sam continued on. "… I realized we could have grown apart too…"

Dean was confused.

Sam's eyes were burning. "But we didn't, despite all these years… We're not like them."

Dean realized Sam was referring to the sheriff and Reilly, and the twisted relationship the two men had had.

"I wanted to say thankyou…"

Now Dean felt a lump swelling threateningly in his throat.

Sam brushed a smile. "…You've always looked out for me."

Dean tried to respond, to swallow the nuisance obstacle, but his own voice failed as the meaning behind Sam's words settled and sank in. He couldn't brush them aside, and a part of him realized he didn't particularly want to. Despite his normal aversion to moments like these, big brother squeezed his sibling's hand tighter. And Sam squeezed back.

All things considered, they were lucky. This time, Dean realized, he'd come far too close to losing his best friend; the accident, the sheriff. The heroin. Dean vowed he'd never let Sam come this close to dying ever again.

Not if he could help it.


	19. Chapter 19

_Sorry for how rushed these are guys, hopefully they make sense! Here's the final two pieces of this story. It's been so much fun to write, I'm almost sad to see it end. Ah well. Til next time :) cheerio_

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**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

Sam lowered himself carefully from Bobby's truck and stood facing the small painted timber cottage. A white picket fence ran across the front of the property, broken only by a narrow gate and a red mailbox. Yellow roses spilled petals over the path, and a large tree stretched newly budding branches over a square of manicured lawn. An icy late afternoon breeze nipped at his ears, ruffling his hair and causing him to hug his coat tighter. He could feel Dean's eyes on his back as his sibling sat beside their old friend in the front seat of the truck, watching him.

"Sure this is a good idea?" This was about the seventh time Dean had tried to talk him out of coming here.

Sam was sure. "I won't be a moment." He glanced back, nodding his gratitude to Bobby and ignoring the look of uncertainty his brother shot him. _I need to do this, Dean. Let me go._ Sam had known from the moment he'd mentioned he wanted to stop by here that Dean wouldn't understand.

It had been five days since their little adventure in the morgue, and both boys were far from recovered. Though Dean had continually tried to hide it, it was obvious his leg injury was quite serious, and Sam hadn't missed the way his brother had winced trying to step into the cabin of Bobby's truck as they'd left the hospital.

Dean had called the older hunter the day before, fumbling over words to explain their dilemma. Bobby must've broken some sort of land speed record, Sam decided, because he'd arrived in less than twenty-four hours, when it should have taken him over a day. Much to the hospital staff's disapproval, release papers had been signed and the three of them had shuffled out the door, via the locker room; Dean on crutches, Sam doing his best to keep upright. Bobby had stared hard at them both once they'd gotten safely into the truck. "Why in God's name didn't you boys call me earlier?"

Sam had cast a sidelong glance at Dean then, but Dean had had his head leaned back against the seat and his eyes squeezed closed.

"Didn't want to trouble you," the older brother had mumbled.

Bobby had dropped a comment, something along the lines of _you Winchester boys are all so stubborn_, and had floored it to the garage where they'd then set about rescuing Dean's car.

Sam had been surprised when he'd shoved a hand into his pocket and had found the diamond ring. He'd completely forgotten it was in there, again, and had pulled it out, watching as it had sparkled upon his palm. He'd been reminded of the conversation he'd had with Reilly in that strange space between life and death, and he'd realized that there was something he still needed to do before they left this place. As Dean and Bobby had fussed over attaching the Impala to the back of the truck, Sam had located a directory in Dirk's workshop and had found Reilly's old address. If Anna was going to be anywhere, it would be there.

Now, with no more backwards glances, Sam made his way unsteadily towards the front door. He hadn't exactly worked out what he was going to say, but he knew he had to say something. He had to do this because Reilly wasn't able to, and somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realized he was also doing this for himself. Because there was a time not so long ago, when he'd been in a similar situation.

He heard the doorbell chime somewhere in the back of the house. There were a few nervous heartbeats before the sound of approaching footsteps on hard floor met his ears, and the main door was opened slightly. A young woman peered through the security screen that remained as a barrier between her and Sam, dark eyes narrowing uncertainly.

"Can I help you?" Her voice held a gentle strain, and Sam noticed her eyes were pink-rimmed, hair untidily bunched atop her head.

He shifted, heart fluttering, opening his mouth to respond.

She beat him to it. "Wait-" Her face came closer to the screen. "I know you."

Sam held his breath, unable to prevent himself wondering whether this had indeed been a bad idea.

"You're him, the man who was driving the other car. You're Sam."

Sam wasn't sure how she knew. Perhaps it was the messed up state his face was in, or the way he had to lean against the wall for support. He nodded sombrely. "I, ah… I just wanted to pay my respects, let you know I'm sorry, for what happened."

Dark eyes widened and regarded him with controlled compassion. "I don't think there's anything you need to apologize for, is there? I've heard what really happened. The whole town's talking about Bill and the hand he had in the accident, and what he did to you and your brother. It's all over the news."

Sam's troubled gaze dipped to the floor.

"I'm surprised you're out of hospital." Her voice wavered slightly.

There was another heartbeat, before the latch was lifted on the door. It opened slightly.

Anna's eyes left Sam and settled momentarily on the truck out on the street. What she thought of the battered Impala attached to its rear, Sam couldn't tell. It was almost as if she gathered herself in from the edges, quickly composing her features to settle on some neutral expression that wouldn't betray the state her heart was in. "Would you like to come inside?"

The gesture took Sam by surprise.

"Or have you just stopped by on your way out of town to stand on my doorstep for a while?"

Sam's cheeks coloured slightly. He didn't want to be rude. "I, uh, I really can't be long." He glanced back at the truck. The idea that Dean was probably watching like a hawk was making him nervous.

"Is that a yes?" The door opened a little further.

What would it hurt to go inside for a moment? Sam expressed his gratitude, and accepted the invitation. Cautiously he stepped over the threshold and into the dim hall.

Anna flicked on the light, possibly noticing Sam's hesitant steps. There were a couple of photos of her and Reilly scattered across the walls, beaming smiles. Sam's eyes skimmed over them quickly, taking in snapshots that seemed to cover more than a handful of years. Anna didn't let him linger long, making her way further down the hall and into a quaint little kitchen. Sam followed, immediately noticing the unnatural tidiness of each room he passed by.

The kitchen, for its part, was empty of any traces of food or dirty dishes. An aura of sadness hung about everything and Sam began to recognize Anna's strong front for the mask that it was; her attempt to hide her grief and pain. She automatically offered him a cup of tea or coffee, but Sam politely declined. He'd come here to give her something, he reminded himself, not to impose upon her. Still not quite knowing what to say, Sam removed the ring from his pocket and felt its weight in his hand.

"I actually wanted to talk to you…" His voice was small and uncertain. "I have something for you, from Reilly." He opened up his palm and the diamond sparkled.

Anna regarded him with mild suspicion, not noticing the ring.

"He wanted you to have this." Sam extended his hand. "I know he was hoping to give it to you himself, but..." His voice trailed off.

Anna's eyes settled upon the object. Her suspicion became confusion.

"Please, take it," Sam prompted gently. "It doesn't belong with me. It's your's. He loved you so much, Anna. He wanted you to know that." A shaky breath made its way into his lungs.

Anna reached a hand towards the ring. She took it gingerly between her fingers, eyes tearing as she bit her lip and studied the diamond. Finally she said, "I don't understand." And her eyes lifted to meet Sam's. "When could you possibly have spoken with him?"

This was a question Sam had been hoping to avoid. He had no answer, at least nothing that would make sense. "Just after the accident," he stretched the truth. "We spoke briefly then."

"And he gave this to you?" There was hope as well as wariness in her tone.

"No," Sam shook his head. _Not quite_. "He told me where to find it. It was in his car."

An awkward silence settled between them. Anna's brow creased and un-creased as she considered what this meant.

Sam had run out of words.

"I want to believe you," she eventually said, her mask finally cracking to reveal the grief it withheld. "But how do I know you're not making this up?" A tear rolled down her cheek.

"You don't." Sam had to struggle to keep his own emotions in check. "But I think there's something engraved on the inside of the band." He'd noticed the tiny letters at the garage. "Perhaps it might help to convince you, more than anything I can say."

Anna tilted the ring towards the light. Tears began to flow freely down her cheeks as she read what was written there. With heartbreaking awe she stared at Sam.

"I'm guessing it means something." Sam hadn't understood what it had said.

"It does." She nodded.

Sam waited, but Anna didn't explain.

She simply slipped the ring onto her finger, a gentle smile brushing a small amount of light across her otherwise broken expression. "I would have said yes, you know." The smile flickered, before fading at the edges. "He was a good man. You would have liked him."

Sam offered a tender smile. He didn't doubt that he would have.

"I wish I could have got to know him properly," was all he said.

Anna held his gaze a moment longer before removing the ring from her finger. With thoughtfulness she threaded it onto the necklace that hung below the collar of her shirt. "I just hope-" she started, "-that he knows how much I loved him too." Her words caught and stumbled in her throat. "Wherever he is…" Her damp eyes met Sam's. "I hope he knows that."

Sam thought he saw Reilly, a flickering silhouette in the corner of the room. But when he looked again, nothing was there. "I'm sure he does," he replied convincingly, hoping he'd seen right and that the ghost had overheard.

Anna rubbed her shoulder and trembled slightly, as if suddenly cold. Curiously, her eyes shifted to the same place Sam thought he'd seen Reilly, but her expression showed no sign that she'd seen anything strange.

Sam sighed heavily. "Anyway, I'm sorry to have intruded like this. I hope I haven't upset you."

Anna shook her head, still clutching the ring that dangled against her heart.

"I really should be going." Sam made his way slowly towards the hallway. "My brother, he's waiting in the truck…"

Anna didn't try to stop him, just walked him to the door.

At the threshold she paused. "Do you believe in life after death, Sam?"

The question caught Sam off guard.

Anna's eyes drifted to the nearest photo hanging on the wall. Picture-Reilly stared back. "I always wonder, you know, whether there could be something more. I'd like to see him again, someday." She smiled sadly. "At least… It's a nice thought."

Sam stepped from the house, swallowing roughly. _I've lost people who I'd like to see again someday too_. "You take care of yourself," he said sensitively, squashing down old memories that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.

"Thank you." Anna glanced at the truck, nodding towards Dean and Bobby, whose faces could just be seen behind the glass. "You take care too."

Sam made his way back towards the gate. There was an ache within him that had nothing to do with his injuries. Opening the door of the truck, he accepted his brother's helping hand into the cabin. "Thanks for waiting," he said quietly.

Bobby started the engine, and Dean studied his sibling carefully.

"You okay?" Big brother asked genuinely.

Sam nodded, shrugging into the seat and away from Dean's concern. He closed his eyes. The ache within him wasn't fading."I'm fine."


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

Four hours into their journey, Bobby turned to Dean. It had been four hours of awkward silence, and splintered, half-hearted attempts at conversation. Sam was sleeping, head against the window, and Dean was sandwiched between the two bigger men. Bobby sighed and then commented tiredly, "You know, you can't always be there to protect him. Sometimes bad things will happen, Dean. You shouldn't beat yourself up every time something goes wrong."

Dean didn't reply immediately, just listened to his brother's gentle snores. "I know that." He leaned over and held a hand against the air vent, making sure the heat was directed at Sam. He probably couldn't always be there to protect the kid, but that wouldn't stop him from trying. "Thanks for coming to get us," he said earnestly, redirecting the topic of conversation.

Bobby snorted and shook his head. "You boys attract more trouble than shit attracts flies." His tone was harsh, but the love was there.

Despite his exhaustion, Dean felt himself smile.

The road rolled beneath them as they headed towards Bobby's, making their way through early evening and into the night. Somewhere, between hours, Dean found himself sleeping. It felt like they were going home, and, strangely, it felt nice.

* * *

_Well, I hope you enjoyed it. Either way, please let me know! I love feedback- I'm still learning and want to improve my writing :) Any advice or comments are good x_


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